


I’ll Come Out Right On The Other Side

by Batbirdies



Series: Emotional Motion Sickness [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: A few more random OC’s that are just there to push the plot along, Bruce Bonds With His Kids, Bruce Wayne is Working on Becoming a Better Parent, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One female OC - Freeform, Parent-Child Relationship, She’s the therapist, Therapy, basically everyone cries, because that’s just how I be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 61,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21995317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batbirdies/pseuds/Batbirdies
Summary: A direct follow up to “Live While I Breathe” in which Bruce begins therapy.His first major goal? Bettering his relationships with his kids, one at a time.AKA: Bruce plans a bonding activity with each of his kids and generally makes a fool of himself. He thinks it might be worth it though, in the end.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Series: Emotional Motion Sickness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1529249
Comments: 323
Kudos: 871
Collections: Best Fics From Across The Multiverse





	1. Let My Nightmares Turn Into Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First stop: Meeting Dr. Xie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic follows _Live While I Breathe_ Directly, and I do recommend reading it first, but it’s not 100% necessary.
> 
> This first chapter is more of a preface than anything and just sets up the rest of the fic. I will be posting the real first chapter, featuring Damian, later tonight.
> 
> I also feel the need to preface this with: I have no experience with therapy, I have never been and _definitely_ do not qualify as a psychologist. All of the snippets of his sessions are just....me guessing at how these things might go.

“So, Bruce, if I may call you that?”

“That’s fine.”

“Alright, so, Bruce. It’s good to finally meet with you, after all the back and forth.” 

Bruce shifted in his seat, to the side of a large, comfortable couch, feet planted flat on the floor, trying not to grip the armrest.

“Yes, I’m...sorry about that.”

“No, no,” She assured, both hands raised, a slight smile on her face. “I take no offense. It’s good to be sure before you make a commitment.” 

Dr. Xie Jiamin was a slight woman, about 5’1”, with an intelligent face and dark hair she wore down, about shoulder length. She was in her 60’s and had a very slight Chinese accent. She was the third option on Stephanie’s list and had, in the end, been the best, by Bruce’s standards. Which, granted, were perhaps not the most average.

Dr. Xie had a background with a focus on PTSD and worked with a lot of veterans, some with very high security clearances. She kept her paper notes only in a coded shorthand and saved nothing online. Her waiting room was down the hall from her office and had no view of the door. The hall looped back around to the main lobby of the building so that there was never any cause for fellow patients to ever see each other coming and going. And, her office suite was in a shared building with law offices, medical doctors, and even a couple financial analysts. There were no security camera’s inside and he’d checked in advance that the camera’s just outside could be turned off for short periods of time, appearing as nothing more than a glitch.

The back and forth she mentioned was referring to a series of questionnaires he’d asked her to fill out (along with the other psychologists), under a false name. They were about her view on doctor-patient confidentiality, what measures she took to protect the identity of her patients, and then a few more asking her to describe herself and her views on therapy and her approach in general. He’d also peppered in subtle questions to gauge her view of vigilanties.

Perhaps it was counter productive, but he didn’t want to see someone who thought they were all mentally unbalanced. Batman was a part of him, and he wasn’t going to give it up. That’s not what this was about. 

He had spent a lot of time in the cave reviewing the information provided from all five of the doctors he’d contacted. All of them had been cooperative and hadn’t asked too many questions at the start. Bruce wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for then, not beyond someone who viewed confidentiality as a hallmark of their profession, and who’s security measures were deemed acceptable. 

That meant he also spent many hours researching different psychologists approaches to therapy. In the end he’d decided he was looking for someone who believed in a holistic approach and didn’t commit to any one theory, and someone who was willing to change their tactics based heavily on the patient and their personality. Bruce knew he would be an unusual case. 

Dr. Xie had emphasized in her replies that it would all depend on the person and their goals. But, in general, she worked on giving practical advice and coping methods, and planning ahead for how to deal with different situations. What had won her his business was a simple comment added into one of her answers.

_“The goal is always balance. To help my patients balance their thinking and behavior in a way that will positively effect their emotional state, which, in the end, will have a corresponding positive effect on those around them.”_

Bruce was doing this for more than just himself and he wanted his therapist to be on board with that. 

The next part had been complicated. He had arranged to meet with her in a Starbucks on the outskirts of the city where she worked. He’d come in disguise, under a false name, and they’d talked briefly. The ultimate goal was to tell her one thing and gauge her response. 

When he’d told her, under his breath, leaning over a tiny table that his knees pressed into the bottom of, that he was Batman, she’d blinked at him with clear interest in her eyes and said, “Ah, I’d wondered what the big secret must be with all the emails. I take it you’re name isn’t Mark, then?” 

Bruce had paused, unsure how much he should reveal at that point and she had leaned forward to meet him, and lowered her voice. “I understand your need for absolute discretion, and for the disguise you’re no doubt wearing. It’s smart.” Then she had looked him straight in the eyes as she picked up her drink.

“You must understand though, that if you choose to move forward with me, there can be no disguises or false identities in my office. Honesty and trust are vital to making real progress. 

“You may make small steps toward your goals without ever telling me your real name or showing me your real face, but you would be holding yourself back. It’s hard to take difficult advice in a perfect situation. But when you can make the excuse of ‘oh, this person doesn’t really know what they’re talking about.’ Then it will be nearly impossible. 

“You need to know that I know the truth, or you won’t ever truly value what I tell you.” 

Bruce had thought about it, a lot. It was what he wanted. He wanted to work for this, to improve, and if that meant taking a risk, so be it.

And so they had arranged to meet at her office, where he took off his false nose and eyebrows, and introduced himself as Bruce Wayne. She had smiled and shook his hand.

“I always wondered if the ditsy billionaire was just a show.” 

And so there he was, at his first session, as himself, with a therapist who knew he was behind Batman. His palms were sweating, which was a surprise, he didn’t think he’d been so nervous in years. 

“Why don’t we start simple. I gather that as Batman, you’re a man of action.”

Bruce nearly flinched the first time she said it, but he had swallowed, nodded, then cleared his throat, already feeling annoyed with himself for the way the words just dried up. “I...do well with something to focus on, yes.” 

Dr. Xie looked down at the notebook in her hands and made a small mark, nodding slowly. She sat with her legs crossed in a small, cushioned armchair, elbows on the armrests. She seemed relaxed when she looked back up, though her eyes were focused.

“That’s good, then why don’t you tell me, what do you want to accomplish here? What are your personal goals? If you have them. If you aren’t sure that’s fine, we can work on that together.” 

“Well I...” He didn’t want to say he had an itemized list saved on the cave computer but he had it memorized at that point anyway. He hesitated briefly.

This was the start. It was the beginning of a massive undertaking. He had a strange sense of dejavu, like he was just cresting the top of the first mountain on his way to the League to begin his training. 

Bruce swallowed.

“I would really like, to improve my relationships with my family.” She nodded, making another note. “I want...to be a better parent and mentor, and to be closer to my kids. There are...I have seen a lot, in my life, and I’m not very good with words or - expressing myself. Sometimes I struggle with...certain memories. I would like to...be better at it.”

“Ok. Those are all great goals and we can definitely find ways to improve here. We can start making a plan today. You mentioned your family first, would you like to start there?”

His response was immediate. “Yes, I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after writing _Live While I Breathe_ I had sort of semi planned to eventually come back and write an in between fic that spanned the gap between it and _Clearly Calm and Keeping Terrorized_ , mostly because I hated that it had Bruce make Damian feel like crap (Purely because of his own trauma and vague incompetence, nothing mean spirited) and then sort of left it that way, because the fic was about Bruce’s mindset changing rather than about any of his kids. 
> 
> I figured it would be after CCAKT was complete, but as I’ve been working on the second draft I kept feeling like, “How did we jump from _that_ to Bruce taking Damian on a business trip with him that he is eager to be a part of?” I needed to bridge the gap.
> 
> Thus this idea was born, originally just a one shot involving Damian spun into a chapter fic featuring each of the Batkids one at a time. Stephanie will make an appearance, while Jason will not. Considering he has his own 100K fic I’m working on it’s only fair. Plus at this point in the series he just doesn’t really have a relationship with Bruce that would allow for it. 
> 
> Damian’s chapter to follow before the night is over!
> 
> Fic and chapter title both from the song Free by Mother Mother.


	2. Let The Angels Into My Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is bad at drawing, but he does it for Damian anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it be said I have virtually no experience with horses or goats and had to actually look some stuff up on the internet for this lmao.

It was just a few sessions in with Dr. Xie that he left with homework. 

As part of the “plan” they had begun drafting for Bruce’s goals the first step was to spend time with his kids. It seemed simple and obvious and initially Bruce had been a little peeved, because he _did_ spend time with his kids. But Dr. Xie had shaken her head and smiled. 

__________

_“No no, you misunderstand me. Spending time with them in costume only counts for so much. You need to spend time with them as you. And you need to do it one on one. At least at first.”_

_She had pointed him toward Damian, as his first target. Bruce had been curious as to why so she had explained._

_“Because I think we will see improvement with him the fastest. And it’s good to make visible progress early on. It encourages us when we feel we may be stalling. Which you will struggle with, in the future.”_

_Bruce almost laughed. “Thank you for your honesty.” She only nodded._

_“I can usually tell which of my patients prefer it, and which will be discouraged by it. You strike me as the sort of man who does not appreciate hand holding.”_

_He nodded._

_“I understand. And I will tell you very frankly, since I think you would prefer it, this will not be easy. What you have come here to do is admirable and will likely have great benefits in your life, but as a whole, it is going to be very difficult. Sometimes even painful._

_“We start with something simple and practical because it helps us remember that what we are doing is worth it, and it gives more immediate results which is encouraging to start with. So let’s make plans.”_

__________

Bruce ran over it all in his head on the drive home, fake nose back in place, rattling down the freeway in an ancient Honda Civic he kept on hand for when he needed to not be Bruce Wayne. He removed the disguise for the appointment, but the only way he could keep his own paranoia in check was to replace it before he left her office.

All in all the sessions so far had been exhausting, and mildly nerve racking, but he was getting over that at least. He left that day with a focus, and a task in mind. He was supposed to plan something, a one on one activity, with Damian.

Something they could have fun doing together, that would show Damian that Bruce liked spending time with him as his son, not just as Robin. The last time he’d attempted to ask Damian about his homework came to mind but Bruce dismissed it. He wasn’t going to give up because it was difficult. Not again.

She had helped him find a direction before he left, asking him about Damian and the things he enjoyed. At least for once, that was something he could easily talk about. He told her about his love for animals and his talent with drawing. She seemed genuinely interested and made notes throughout.

__________

_“Does it run in the family? This talent for the arts? Are you good at drawing?”_

_“No,” Bruce said, a wry twist to his mouth. “I’m competent when it comes to technical drawing but nothing artistic...I believe...my mother was interested in art, though we don’t have many examples of her work.” She nodded along to this while Bruce swallowed at the admission. It was something he’d thought about sharing with Damian in the past, but the only sketchbook of his mother’s that Bruce had was neatly wrapped in a box in the top of his closet and even the thought of touching it made his heart ache._

_“That may even be better. I want you to find something Damian would be interested in doing, taking an art class of some sort perhaps, a painting lesson? Whatever you think he would enjoy, and be good at. And I want you to do it with him. I don’t want you to bring any of your other children, just Damian._

_“I want you to go be terrible at something your son is good at.”_

_Bruce blinked at her. “You_ want _me to be bad at it?”_

 _“Well, I don’t want you to be bad on purpose, but it’s good for children to see their parents doing something with them,_ because _it’s with them. It would also be good for Damian to see that you are not good at everything, that it’s alright not to be perfect. If you go and enjoy doing something poorly, because it’s with your son, I think it could mean very much to him, don’t you?”_

__________

Bruce felt stupid for not thinking of it himself in the end, but that’s what this was all for wasn’t it? He needed the help. And it was a good suggestion.

He thought about it throughout his entire next work day, and spent a good amount of time in his office looking up information on an appropriate outing. There were groupons and the like for painting lessons for adults to enjoy with drinks, but obviously Damian wasn’t old enough and anyway, most of them seemed...not to his skill level. So then he looked for drawing classes, and while there were many for young children, again, they were all below his skill level. Either that or they required a commitment for multiple classes happening weekly and Bruce didn’t want to sign up for anything he wasn’t even sure Damian would like.

Bruce had never spent a lot of time trying to find social things to do as himself. It was never much of an issue. Bruce was invited to things. Or his company threw events, or he went on dates to fancy, public restaurants. 

He didn’t really know where to look for something like this, but he was determined, so he kept at the search. It wasn’t until a couple days later that he spoke to his secretary about the idea.

“You have any plans this weekend Mr. Wayne?” Bruce paused, looking up from the tablet in his hands, that displayed the same annoying results he’d been finding so far. 

“Oh...not really.” He continued scrolling, hoping for something to pop out. It really didn’t seem like it should be so difficult. 

“Really?” Claire asked, shuffling a stack of papers on her desk. “No important gala’s or dates or anything?” Bruce glanced up again. Claire was relatively new, after his previous secretary had had a baby and decided to spend more time at home. She was good at her job. Lucius had hired her.

But she was sometimes more interested in his social life than Bruce felt was appropriate. Of course he might just be ultra sensitive to that type of thing. Either way, it occurred to him suddenly that she might know more about something like this than he did.

“Actually, I’m trying to find something to do with my youngest son, but I’m having trouble finding the right fit.” 

“Oh?” She perked up, setting her papers down and subtly pushing her keyboard to the side so she could rest her elbows on the desk. Perhaps she was just bored, sitting in the open space in front of Bruce’s office. People came and went frequently but they didn’t stay and talk to her much. They were always there to see Bruce after all. 

“Yes...” He hesitated for only a second before walking around to her side of the desk and setting his tablet down in front of her. “You see, he really enjoys art, and so I’ve wanted to find something the two of us could do together, like some kind of lesson. But all of them are for adults or seem much too young for him.” He gestured to the screen and Claire leaned over it, looking interested as she scrolled through a few results.

“You know, there’s an art studio near my place that’s always advertising new workshops...do you mind if I...?” She glanced up at him, hands hovering over the screen and Bruce nodded, watching as she opened a new tab and searched _Wandering Studios_ in the address bar.

She clicked open the link a couple results down and scrolled to the events page. “There, they have stuff all the time, and I’ve heard the instructors are supposed to be great. Maybe it’s worth looking into?” She glanced back up at him, holding the tablet out and Bruce gave his best Brucie smile as he took it from her.

“Absolutely. Thank you, I’ll let you know if we end up booking something.”

  
  


*

  
  


It was only minutes later that Bruce found what he didn’t know he’d been looking for.

It was a workshop on drawing animals, horses and goats specifically. According to the site the owner of the studio had a friend that owned a stable a ways outside the city, one that boarded horses as well as _rented goats_ for land clearing. He wasn’t entirely sure how Damian would feel about that but it seemed ethically sound when Bruce looked into it. 

The plan was to meet at the stables and sketch the animals after some short instruction, enjoy some apple cider and snacks, and meet the animals. It was family friendly, and would work with all skill levels. Bruce booked it without a second thought.

The trouble came when he realized he still had to actually ask Damian to go. At first he thought he would just tell him the truth, but then he remembered, again, Damian’s reaction when he simply tried to show interest in his school project and he was worried about the kind of response he might get. So instead, he framed it like a training exercise.

“Damian.” It was after patrol, nearing two in the morning on a Friday and Bruce could tell that despite his insistence otherwise, the boy was exhausted. 

“Yes father?” He asked in a subdued tone while working off his mask.

“I was thinking tomorrow I’d like to take you somewhere.” Bruce pulled the cowl off and then his cape, hanging them carefully on the hook on the changing room wall. Damian looked over, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, mask flopped halfway off his face.

“Just _somewhere?”_ The tone had that same edge of sarcasm that he was prone to, one Bruce had finally pinned as a defensive strategy when he wasn’t sure where a conversation was going. Bruce sat on the bench in front of the lockers and started working off his boots. 

“Yes. I’ve been thinking it might be good to get out of the city for a bit, do some field training in the outdoors.” 

Damian paused, one glove held in his hand while he tugged off the other and seemed to contemplate this. “Survival training,” He said softly, making Bruce turn his head fully to look at him, wondering if he’d made a misstep in the strategy after all. He didn’t want to outright lie, but Damian would make his own assumptions so Bruce cleared his throat.

“Nothing extreme, I just don’t want us all to get too comfortable always being in the city.” Damian straightened, pulling his last glove off and setting them neatly inside his locker. 

“Yes. When should I be ready?” He turned and looked at Bruce with the same serious face he always had, eyebrows pinched. He didn’t look angry but Bruce gauged whether he might be nervous instead. It was difficult to tell, but the last thing he wanted was for Damian to be dreading this outing for any false perception about what it might include. He cursed himself for not thinking about the things Damian might be relating it to in his head. 

“Just by ten.” Bruce pulled off his gauntlets and set them to the side, “I’ll have Alfred make some hot chocolate.” He was watching carefully, or he might not have noticed the nearly imperceptible drop in his son’s shoulders, or the carefully released breath, like a string of tension had been cut. 

“I’ll be ready.”

Bruce nodded, quiet while they both went about removing the rest of their uniforms and moved toward the shower stalls. Bruce quickly cleaned up, threw on a set of pajama’s and went back to the cave computer to finish up their patrol notes. He just barely heard Damian’s bare feet padding across the cave floor behind him before he reached the stairs and Bruce swiveled around in his chair.

“Wear something warm,” he threw out, voice louder than it probably needed to be. Damian paused with one foot on the steps and looked back.

“I will bring all the necessities. You do not need to warn me as if I am a child.”

Bruce held back a smile, “I know...sleep well Damian.” His son stared at him for a moment, face neutral before he gave a short nod and turned back to the stairs.

“You as well father.” 

  
**  
**

*

  
  


The next morning Bruce found him in the kitchen by 9am, despite the hour he still had to get ready, with a bag packed, wearing thick jeans, sturdy boots, and a flannel shirt with one of Dick’s sweatshirts pulled over it. He was eating his breakfast quietly and Bruce took the opportunity to silently slip into his son’s room and snag a sketchbook off his desk and the few pencils that were laying next to it. 

Bruce himself had stolen a clipboard, stashed in the depths of one of the interns desks somewhere, and a stack of printer paper from work for his own art aspirations. All of it went into a well worn backpack, followed by two thermoses of Alfred’s hot chocolate and an old blanket from one of the sitting rooms that wasn’t often used. He didn’t know how much time they would actually be spending outside and while Damian looked prepared for the chill of late October Bruce, at least, didn’t think it would hurt. Damian was always cold in Gotham even though he would never say anything. 

Bruce joined him for breakfast, both of them eating at the counter in the kitchen instead of the dining room, as had become the routine in recent months. Damian had been the one to suggest it, pointing to the efficiency of not dirtying the dining room simply for two people. Bruce suspected it was because Alfred never joined them at the table but would happily stand and chat in the kitchen while he prepared for the rest of the day. 

“So you boys have an outdoor activity planned then?” Alfred asked, eyeing their packs and of course, having made their hot chocolate. Bruce hadn’t told him his plan, nor anyone for that matter, though he suspected the butler must know anyway, he always did. But there was a certain part of Bruce that worried he wouldn’t get the best reception and being able to pretend it never happened was an option he wanted to hold onto.

Even though Damian would probably come to Alfred and tell him all about how terrible it was if things did go poorly. Bruce was kidding himself if he thought he could get away with anything in this house. 

Damian swallowed a large enough bite Bruce almost reached out a hand to pat his back. “We are doing survivalist training, outside the city.” He sat up straight, shoulders back, and shoveled another enormous bite into his mouth.

While all of them in the family had large appetites, considering the amount of calories they burned, Damian was just beginning to hit the point when all young boys began consuming their own body weight each day. Bruce felt like he was taller each time he saw him, and though he was still quite thin his shoulders seemed broader already. It was alarming sometimes, when Bruce thought about it, how old all of his kids were getting. 

“Is that so?” Alfred raised an eyebrow, glancing at Bruce with an unimpressed look. He couldn’t be sure if it was because he knew that wasn’t the case, or because he thought survivalist training on a Saturday with his twelve year old son was inadvisable at this point in time. Bruce avoided his eyes as he took another bite of eggs. 

“Yes, though father has not told me where we are going, as an added challenge.” Damian looked over at him, mouth full again already as Alfred slid another serving of toast and a spoon full of fruit onto his plate. 

“Hm, interesting,” Alfred said as he took Bruce’s plate, just as he was about to take his last bite. “You’ll have to tell me how it goes.” Bruce set down his fork, watching the older man load the dishwasher with something between amusement and anxiety.

“It’s nothing extreme,” he tried to half heartedly defend. “I think it could be fun.” 

“It does not need to be fun,” Damian interjected, “As long as it is useful.” Bruce looked over at his son, an uncomfortable tightness in his chest that he’d grown familiar with in the last two years, at the way his words sounded rehearsed, like he was reciting something he’d been told when he was younger. It wasn’t as if the statement was entirely untrue. There were certainly times that things needed to be done, regardless of their entertainment value. But, the way Damian seemed to almost avoid the enjoyable things, to deny himself as some sort of proof of his own maturity, was constantly concerning.

It reminded Bruce too much of himself, and Damian was too young, and had already faced too much not to have as much fun as he could at this age. 

Of course Bruce already knew this, but he found himself agreeing again with Dr. Xie in his head. Damian needed to see that Bruce would do things he wasn’t good at, simply because he thought Damian would have fun doing them. This was a good plan.

Bruce still felt Alfred’s gaze though, planted firmly on the side of his face when he didn’t respond and quickly cleared his throat. “Maybe...” he said, not wanting to outright disagree. “But I still think it’ll be fun.”

The drive over was quiet, Damian typing away on his phone, likely texting Dick or Jon. He did pause once, to ask, “will we be bringing our phones or...?”

“You can take it with you, yes. I told you, it’s nothing extreme.”

Damian nodded, seemingly satisfied, and continued typing.

The closer they came to the stables though, the more nervous Bruce became, suddenly second guessing every decision that brought him here. 

Especially when they turned onto a long gravel driveway and Damian straightened in his seat, pocketing his phone and peering out the window. Trees lined the path so it took a moment before they cleared and stables came into view in the distance, along with large fields fenced off from the outside and a wide, gravel parking lot already filling with cars. Damian went stiff, turning to Bruce with a wary, suspicious expression, eyebrows drawn tight together, looking angrier by the second.

And then- 

“What is this?” Damian hissed.

There were children. Many of them. Bruce pulled slowly through to an open space while he watched numerous small families wander by, parents with their children, from very young to a little older than Damian. Bruce was silent, unsure how to respond in a way that wouldn’t invite a blow up. 

“What are we doing here? This cannot possibly be a training exercise.” 

“It’s...not exactly,” Bruce finally admitted, hands still gripping the wheel. 

“What do you mean _not exactly?”_

Bruce struggled to think of a way to diffuse the inevitable bomb about to go off. “I mean, it’s not - training. It’s....it’s an art class.” He looked over at Damian, at the way his posture pulled up to his chin, his hands gripping the seatbelt still buckled around him. At the way his eyes flicked back and forth over Bruce’s face as if he was looking for something he didn’t find.

“You lied.” Bruce blinked for a moment, “You told me this was a training exercise.”

“Yes-“

“Why would you lie? What is this really?” He looked out the windshield, eyes tight with anxiety and Bruce really should have seen this coming, he should have been honest with Damian from the beginning because of course good surprises were not something Damian was familiar with.

“I told you, it’s an art class-“

“This place is overrun with children,” his son snapped, anxiety shifting into anger in an instant. Bruce gave a soft sigh, letting go of the wheel to lean back in his seat, trying to formulate a way around that. “I know you think that I am some _little boy_ but I do not need to be coddled, you cannot trick me into _having fun.”_ He put violent air quotes around the last two words. 

“I am not a child, and refuse to be treated as one. You cannot lie to me like parents lie to little children as if I am _stupid.”_

_“Damian.”_ Bruce finally cut in, feeling frustration well up in him alongside a flushing embarrassment. “Yes, Damian, you’re right. I did lie. I told you this was a training exercise because I wasn’t sure you would agree to come if I told you the truth and I-“ He swallowed, gritting his teeth to get the words out. Dr. Xie had told him numerous times when he’d complained about his inability to voice his thoughts.

_”You just have to keep trying. The words won’t always come out the way you want, and it won’t be easy. But just try to be honest. Be blunt. Say what you’re thinking, even if it feels frightening somehow._

“I - wanted you to come. I wanted to do something with you that you would enjoy.” He tried not to sound irritated but it was a near thing.

He took a deep breath, wiping a hand over his face as a bitter disappointment began to settle in his stomach. “I wanted to do something with you that you would think was fun, but if you don’t think you’ll like this we can go somewhere else. We can...we can do survival training like you were planning on. There’s a place not far from here that would work.”

He tried very hard not to sound disappointed, or angry. This wasn’t how he wanted it to go of course but getting upset with Damian would only make it worse. It could still be fun, Bruce told himself, trying to think of ways to make it informative, things he could teach his son about the local flora and fauna he might not already know. 

But Damian was silent for a long moment, the only sounds in the car both of their breathing and the muffled noises of families speaking outside. His face was turned away and Bruce leaned forward just slightly, trying to see him when he finally spoke, very quietly.

“You would....you would be participating.” 

Bruce eyed the harsh angle of his shoulders. “Yes, this was for the both us.” 

Damian looked up finally, out the windshield once more and Bruce did too, carefully still observing his son out of the corner of his eye. He thought he might be upset, in more than just his automatically defensive way.

But then Damian cleared his throat. “What does the event entail?”

Bruce took a purposefully silent breath before responding, staring out past the thin wooden posts that made nothing more than a decorative fence around the lot. “The farm has stables, where they board people’s horses, and they raise goats for land clearing. We would get to meet the animals and then we get to sit and draw them. That’s all it is.” Bruce saw his son’s hands twitch over the seatbelt buckle before he turned to face him, the wrinkle between his eyebrows deep but no longer so angry. 

“And you would be doing so as well.” 

“Yes.” Bruce nodded, clasping his hands in his lap. “I wanted it to be something we could do together. Something that wasn’t - mask related.” He swallowed. “But only if you want to. If there’s too many little kids or it doesn’t sound fun we can pick something else, together.”

Which, Bruce thought, he should have done to begin with. How he hadn’t seen all of this coming was beyond him. Bruce had wondered if Damian might scoff at the whole thing but the immediate offense taken was somehow surprising. But after a moment the tightness in his son’s posture slowly relaxed and he nodded, a hint of color blooming high on his cheeks. “I will stay and participate.”

Bruce was - surprised really. He’d already resigned himself to turning around and heading back to the manor, to coming up with some halfhearted excuse for why they were back so early. 

He didn’t show it however. Instead he reached out and patted Damian on the shoulder and they got out of the car to join the small gathering of parents and their children. Bruce grabbed his backpack from the backseat but left Damian’s where it was, trusting they wouldn’t need whatever various weapons he had no doubt packed. 

The grass was damp and the air chilled as they walked, Bruce dug through his bag for a moment and pulled out Damian’s sketchbook and a pencil, handing it to him as they reached the circle of people milling about near a sign that stated _Stable Drawing Class - wait here._

There were a few kids older than Damian but most were his age and younger, another thing Bruce should have realized in advance, but of course it wasn’t like he had participated in anything like this before. Damian didn’t look very pleased as they stood there, nose pointed in the air and sketch book clutched to his chest. He stood close to Bruce, eyeing the other families with outright suspicion.

A woman in an emerald green rubberized rain coat stood next to the sign, a name tag stuck to the front that said _Sarah._

“Hello everyone!” She greeted, looking around at the group and waving at the few people still walking up. “Thank you for coming, I’m going to take you to our check-in table and once we move through then we can get started!” As a group they walked across the grass toward a large stable where the door stood open. It smelled like hay, and rain and as soon as they entered a couple horses could be seen hanging their heads above their stable doors, watching everyone filter in.

A few children squealed excitedly, attempting to run toward them before their parents jumped in and grabbed their hands, corralling them back to the rough line that had formed. Damian, again, stayed close to his side, and utterly silent through this process. 

Bruce tried not to notice the few parents staring at him at alternating moments and kept a hand resting on Damian’s shoulder. A reminder to hopefully not say anything rude. Bruce gave a bright smile to the man manning the desk who seemed not to know how to speak to Bruce and wouldn’t look him in the eye. He hoped it would make up for the continual glare that Damian leveled at him. All in all the act of getting through the stables and walking out toward the fields where the goats were pastured was quietly awkward. Bruce wasn’t sure how to break the silence and Damian was clearly not inclined to speak. 

“Alright, hello everyone, I’m Candace and I’m going to be your instructor for the day. I thought we’d start out here with the goats, since it’s not raining for now.” A different woman from before, but wearing a matching raincoat, stood to the front of the group, just outside a tall wooden fence with chicken wire stapled to the back. Inside the pasture there were goats milling around, some coming toward the fence, tails twitching back and forth at rapid speeds, low bleating filtering through the air. The field held a few tall obstacles, a large tractor tire and a few wooden boxes in ascending and descending order by size, some of the smaller goats were jumping from one to the other and back to the ground. 

“The goats are all very friendly, they’re social animals and they like people. You can pet them, but be mindful not to pull on their ears or play rough with them. Goats _love_ to play rough and they might get a little more aggressive in their play than you think.” She grinned at the man who had helped sign everyone in, who now stood at the gate that led into the field. 

“We don’t want anyone getting knocked over or jumped on. Goats can be pretty pushy.” 

With that they opened the gate and everyone trudged in. The ground was a little damp but the grass was thick and there were no muddy sunken places. Folding chairs were leaned up against a large matching table where a few easels with white boards were set up, filled with circular shapes and lines that approximated something that definitely looked like a goat.

“Ok, everyone gather ‘round, make sure you can see.” She went on to explain a theory of drawing based in basic shapes, starting with simple, proportionate circles that could be built on in detail until you ended with a finished drawing.

Damian seemed to have little interest in this part and was instead watching the goats carefully. When the instructions were over Candace directed everyone to take a folding chair. “Find a place anywhere you like and set yourselves up, pet the goats, feed them snacks, draw, have fun!” She clapped her hands at the end and the small crowd gathered around her clapped half heartedly before shuffling around to where the chairs were leaned up for everyone.

“Excuse me,” Damian said to the man who had checked them in as Bruce was picking up two chairs.

“Um, yes?” He looked up from the box in his arms, where he was handing out treats for the goats, which approximated a varied pile of fruits and vegetables. He was tall and thin with sandy blonde hair and looked to be anywhere between nineteen and twenty five. 

“Where are these goats housed? The woman who brought us out here made it sound as if they live outside while the horses stay in the stables.” 

Bruce stilled, closing his eyes briefly at the highly accusatory tone before he turned to see the man staring at Damian with a startled but fairly amused expression.

“No, there’s a few barns out there.” He motioned with his chin to a cluster of far away buildings. “That’s where they sleep. They’re heated and everything, the goats are just more insistent about getting outside during the day. They get restless if they don’t move around a lot, even if it’s cold.” 

Damian gave a sharp nod and turned back to Bruce, sketchbook tucked under his arm while Bruce resisted the urge to smile. 

“Where do you want to set up?” While Bruce didn’t think any particular place would make much of a difference Damian seemed to already have a spot in mind and took them on a direct path to a single goat laying in a pile of blankets by the fence. There were no other blankets around and it seemed a little odd until they came closer. This particular goat was either very fat or very pregnant, but Bruce had his money on the latter. Her little tail flicked back and forth rapidly as they approached and she sat up with a bit of a struggle, propped with her back legs straight out almost like a child. 

She was mostly white with large black spots and bleated happily when Damian pulled a bag of blueberries out of his sweatshirt pocket. 

“Did you bring those from home?” Bruce asked as he set up their chairs. 

Damian crouched down and pulled a handful out, after setting his sketchbook on the seat of one of the chairs. “I did not know where you would be taking us and you didn’t specify I couldn’t bring food.” He sat down carefully, setting his backpack on the ground next to them. 

“That’s fine,” Bruce assured, wondering when the prickly edges of Damian’s automatic irritability might wear down just a little. He was obviously still nervous about the conflict in the car. Bruce watched his son as he offered the berries, palm flat while the goat took them one by one from his hand. It was like watching some sort of transformation in his face when Damian was with animals. 

The ever present crease in his forehead disappeared and he suddenly looked his age, gently running a hand down the goats neck when the pile was gone, pressing on her forehead at which she eagerly pushed back. There was a flicker of a smile before he took the bag and dumped it’s contents on the ground near her blankets and stood back up, taking the chair next to Bruce to begin drawing. 

It wasn’t until Damian flicked his eyes up with a frown that Bruce realized he was staring, and hadn’t even gotten his own art supplies out of the backpack. It was just nice - to see this side of Damian. It left him with a soft lump in the base of his throat and he recalled part of his conversation with Dr. Xie.

__________

_“There is one more thing I want you to do on this outing.”_

_“Oh?” Dr. Xie nodded slowly, eyeing Bruce with a scrutinizing gaze._

_“Tell him you love him before the day is up. Alright?”_

__________

It seemed easy, but Bruce knew how fumbling and awkward he could be and he didn’t want to screw it up. Despite having said it in the past it was usually a heat of the moment thing. It was more difficult in everyday life. Especially when he looked at his son and knew it would just make him suddenly on guard, as if Bruce were testing him somehow. It was too early, even if the feeling hit him like the warmth of the sun. 

But Bruce was determined. He wasn’t going to do anything the easy way anymore. Before the day was up, he would say it.

  
  


*

  
  


The other children seemed much more interested in the more active goats and so Bruce and Damian were generally left to their devices. Bruce though, he had no idea where to start. He attempted copying the white board drawings they had been introduced with but it just looked like circles. He kept going back to Dr. Xie in his mind, trying to remember her advice, trying to make sure he applied it.

__________

_“As someone who is normally exceptional at most things, you cannot get frustrated if you really are poor. You need to show humility, be the worst person in the room and be fine with it. Use it as an opportunity. Ask for your son’s help, learn from him. Make it about improvement rather than skill._

_“But mostly just have fun. Share something with your son that shows him you enjoy spending time with him.”_

__________

Bruce cleared his throat, a bit awkwardly.

“Damian,” he looked up and over, eyes alert, “Can you show me where to start with this? I don’t really know what I’m doing.” While knowing his position as Damian’s father meant he would never be subject to the kind of merciless teasing Damian might inflict on any one of his siblings, he was still reluctant to share his disaster of a drawing. He really hadn’t thought it would be an issue, the idea of being terrible at something in a group of people alongside somehow who was talented at it. But that was part of what this was about. Being terrible and not letting it matter.

Bruce showed him the botched drawing he had already begun. Damian stared at it for a moment, face entirely blank before he blinked a couple times and turned back to the goat.

“Um, well, I usually do something sort of like the instructor drew.” He seemed reluctant at first, self conscious in a way Bruce was hardly used to seeing. “I don’t like to work in circles though, it always ends up looking cartoony at the end when I do. What...” He hesitated for a second and then leaned out towards Bruce, resting his sketchbook between them so that it was sitting with equal parts on both of their chairs. 

“What I like to do, is a general outline.” He sketched carefully at the awkward angle, an odd little blob, while glancing back and forth between the page and the goat. “Then I sketch the shape of the body and legs, and then I start with the head and work my way down for the detail work.” 

Bruce peered carefully at the example drawing and then looked at the one Damian had already been working on. The detail and the likeness was amazing, and Damian was only twelve years old. “I’ll try that, though I’m sure mine won’t be anywhere near as good.” 

Damian looked back up, taking his notebook back, Bruce didn’t miss the flash of surprise or the soft blush that followed. He cleared his throat and settled back in to draw.

“Well, I have been practicing much longer,” he mumbled to his hands, “it’s only logical I would be better.” Bruce smiled to himself, switching the page he was working on for a fresh one. 

“Of course.” 

And so, despite knowing that it was still going to be terrible, he started working. The instructor was steadily walking around, approaching each group and seeing their progress, offering advice and praising different children’s drawings. Eventually she made her way to their corner, crouching down briefly by the goat and scratching behind her ears. 

“How’s it going over here with Mrs. Potts?” She smiled at Bruce and Damian, curly, dark hair tied back in a ponytail. 

“Fine.” Damian said at the same time that Bruce said “Good.” 

She stood up and walked around to peer at their drawings. He didn’t miss the way Damian’s hands twitched, as though he wanted to hide it. Bruce made a point of offering his which earned him an appreciative hum from Candace, someone who was obviously used to telling children their unidentifiable animals were beautiful. 

However when she saw Damian’s drawing she stopped, hands clasped behind her back. “Wow, that is really good, it looks just like her!” Damian shifted uneasily, looking somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed. He seemed inclined to ignore her until he glanced up at Bruce and his face flushed. He mumbled out a clipped _“Thank you.”_

Bruce saw her give a soft smile before she looked at him. “Your son is very talented Mr. Wayne.” Bruce found he didn’t have to put on the fake Brucie smile in order to respond.

“He is, isn’t he?” She nodded along, glanced at Damian one more time, and seemed to sense how uncomfortable he was.

“They’ll be bringing out hot drinks soon if you’d like, so be on the lookout. I’ll leave you to it.” 

_“Father.”_ Damian grunted as soon as she was out of ear shot.

“Yes?” He was trying not to be amused by the bright flush to his son’s face but it made him think of Dick, always talking about how adorable he was. Bruce never had a hard time imagining it, but he rarely got to experience it first hand. Maybe only because he wasn’t prone to embarrassing his kids on purpose. 

“I understand it is a persona but do you really need to be so over the top? I do not appreciate meaningless praise.” Damian bent nearly double over his sketchbook, scribbling angrily away.

“Meaningless...? Damian.” Bruce set his own pencil down. “She wasn’t lying, and neither was I.” 

“Tt.” He suddenly reached back and tugged his hood up, hunching his shoulders forward. “She is an art teacher for children, she is obligated to compliment everyone’s work.” Bruce shifted in his chair, frowning, unsure how to handle the strange refusal of praise.

_Just try to be honest. Be blunt. Say what you’re thinking._

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t true. You’re very talented Damian.” 

Finally, he shifted his own terrible drawing until it rested on the side of Damian’s leg, parallel to his sketchbook. 

It was difficult to tell, with his hood pulled up, but Bruce thought he was looking at the clipboard, complete with Bruce’s honest attempt at drawing a goat that looked more like a dog. A poorly drawn one at that. 

“I mean look,” he said when his son’s hands stilled, “you’re better than Batman.” 

Damian snorted, turning his head and glaring at him while his mouth twisted in a strangled smile. Bruce pulled the clipboard back and ruffled his hair through the hood, earning a halfhearted grumble.

“If you’re cold I brought a blanket.” 

Damian sniffed. “I am perfectly fine.” 

Bruce hummed and let it be but as soon as someone showed up with hot apple cider he went ahead and dug it out of the backpack and draped it over his shoulders. Damian gave him a look but didn’t say anything.

Bruce took some cider, Damian refused his in favor of the hot chocolate that Alfred had packed and while they sipped on their drinks someone from the farm gave a small informational speech about goats and horses and their shared history. 

Bruce zoned out about halfway through, continuing to make poor drawings of the very pregnant goat still sitting happily in her blankets, eating what grass she could reach. 

Art had never been something Bruce had more than a passing interest in. They’d had family portraits painted over the years and he liked to look at them, admired the work put into them, but he wasn’t sure he ever really appreciated the skill it took. Nor did he understand the almost trance like state you could slip into while simply doodling lines on a page. It was....much more relaxing than he anticipated, especially when he wasn’t concerned about making sure it was good, since he knew it wouldn’t be. 

After that it was announced that whenever anyone was finished with their drawings or felt like moving on, they would begin working in the stables with the horses, or if you preferred to stay outside, there were some being pastured in a neighboring field, they would have instructions at both. Bruce, personally, was beginning to feel the chill, in his hands and nose in particular and knew Damian would be as well.

“You ready to move on?” Bruce asked, eyeing his third sketch of another goat that wandered into their vicinity. 

“In a second.” Bruce nodded, enjoying the quiet and the...peace of the moment. He didn’t have that often, and even less with Damian. Once again he found himself frustrated with his own lack of forethought. Of course they could hardly have this on patrol, maybe between muggings or on a stakeout but even then the man didn’t really think it was appropriate to relax in costume. 

It was difficult not to fall into the mire of guilt for not putting in the effort before. For waiting this long to reach out and try. Especially when he watched Damian, at ease in a way he hardly ever was, so lost to the moment that Bruce could hear him softly humming under his breath. 

Finally, satisfied with his final drawing, Damian stood up with the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders and went to pet the goat, _Mrs. Potts,_ one more time, who butted her head into his palms and bleated at the attention. Bruce tried to subtly slip his phone out of his pocket, pulling up the camera app to catch the soft smile playing across his face but instead found a mildly alarmed look reflected in the screen.

Bruce coughed on a laugh, covering his mouth.

“You are behaving...like Grayson.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

Damian huffed but didn’t refute it, nor did he make a point of ruining the photo at the cost of getting to say goodbye to Mrs. Potts. That warm sun feeling in Bruce’s chest only intensified, making him, for the first time, truly grateful he’d decided to listen to Stephanie Brown and go to therapy. 

When they entered the stables, it was decidedly more crowded inside. Not horribly so, since they were very large but it was definitely noticeable. It only meant that they had to walk a ways down the large, open, hallway like path to find an open stable that wasn’t already surrounded by children and their parents. Not all of the stable doors were open, only the ones where a handler was there, feeding them carrots or apples and showing children the proper way to do the same without getting their skin nipped. Making sure none of the horses were spooked or annoyed, and answering the endless barrage of questions from any child under eight. 

Bruce and Damian, for their part, found a stall near the end of the hall with a small, buckskin mare who’s handler was a teenaged girl named Maggie. She had dark skin and a braid of long black hair over her shoulder, tall black boots and a heavy plaid coat on with a name tag. She seemed nervous as soon as she saw them and gave a strained smile while working on brushing the horse’s mane.

“Hello,” she said softly as Bruce leaned their folding chairs against the stable wall. “This is KitKat. You can, um, say hi if you’d like. Just don’t...I mean, you’re not little kids, you know.” She turned back to the horse and continued brushing. Bruce caught a tiny shake of her head and suppressed a smile. 

True to character, Damian seemed to take the awkward statement as a compliment and nodded curtly, approaching the horse slowly and lifting a softly formed fist to press gently to the center of KitKat’s muzzle. The horse nudged back and huffed a soft breath, lowering her head as Damian removed his hand and reached up to scratch softly at the rounded underside of her cheek. 

Bruce followed suit, brushing a hand over the smooth coat on her neck on the opposite side from Maggie.

KitKat seemed relatively uninterested in them, and went about eating the hay in the trough hung from the wall while they set themselves back up. Despite the size of the stables it felt a little cramped to have the chairs inside with the horse so they unfolded them just outside the open door. There were more white boards set up with example drawings and a different instructor wandering up and down the aisle, along with a snack table set up toward the back where the tack was kept. 

Another factor of the more confined space was that it meant anyone walking by behind them was much closer than they otherwise might have been. This was illustrated when a young girl, maybe seven or eight years old, spotted Damian’s drawing when he propped it on his knees to look at it from a distance. 

“Oh my gosh, that’s _so good.”_

Damian startled, turning to look at the girl who suddenly appeared beside them. “Can I see your other one’s? I love drawing but I’m not _that_ good.” 

Damian, more than anything, seemed bewildered. “Um.” 

“Please? I’ll show you mine.” She hurriedly flipped open the book she was carrying in both hands. “See?” She shoved her sketchpad at Damian, while Bruce looked on. They were good, he thought, better than his own most certainly, definitely above average for a kid her age. 

“That’s...nice.” Damian shifted, finally offering a look at the page he was working on. 

“You’re so good! Did you take other classes? Do they help?” She looked nearly star struck, blonde hair messily piled in a bun that was half falling out, oversized puff coat hanging off one shoulder. Bruce imagined the woman who was walking up behind her in a hurry was probably used to losing track of her.

“Lina, you need to stay with your brothers, I told you.” She grabbed the back of her jacket, tugging lightly and giving Bruce an apologetic look. 

“But mom look!” She pointed again, at Damian’s notebook, handing off her sketchbook in favor of free hands. “He’s really good, I wanted to see his goat pictures.” 

“Ok,” she half laughed, “then you need to ask nicely, say please, don’t be pushy, and if he doesn’t want to, then you leave him alone, okay?” 

Lina frowned. “I wasn’t being annoying, right?” She suddenly looked to Bruce who opened his mouth to answer when Damian quickly intercepted.

“No, no, you’re not - annoying, it’s fine. You can- I’ll show you my drawings.” He seemed flustered and Bruce gently laid a hand on the back of his neck, squeezing softly while he flipped through the pages and showed the little girl.

“Mom! Take a picture with your phone, they’re so good!” Lina’s mother was smiling, holding back a laugh. 

“You have to _ask_ Sweety.” She looked up at Damian then, smile warm. “They are very good.” 

“Thank you,” was Damian’s _very_ quiet reply and Bruce could tell he was feeling overwhelmed and unsure how to deal with the attention from strangers. 

“Can we? Please?” The little girl asked, leaning forward so her mother’s grip on her jacket was the only thing keeping her upright. 

“Well-“

Bruce leaned around Damian then, reaching out and setting his clipboard on top of the sketchbook. “Wouldn’t you like to see mine?” 

Lina seemed surprised for all of a second, and then reached out and took the clipboard, staring at the drawing with a growing expression of delight. “This is _awful.”_ She let out on a laugh.

 _“Lina,”_ Her mother bit out at the same time Damian sputtered.

 _“Excuse me?”_

Bruce was easily prepared to laugh it off, that was the entire reason he’d butted in in the first place, to be a humorous distraction, but then Damian, lightning fast, pulled the clipboard from her hands. Not violently so, but hard enough she yanked her hands back in shock. “You are practically an _infant,_ you have no right-“

 _“Damian.”_ Bruce moved his hand from his neck to wrap around his shoulders, tugging him closer to his side. The mother was apologizing profusely while the little girl looked suddenly near tears. “It’s fine,” Bruce said to all three of them, “really, I’m not offended.”

“Father, she-“

“Is right, Damian. She’s right, my drawing is terrible, it’s not a surprise that I’m no artist.” He gave the mother a reassuring smile and leaned in close to Damian’s side, whispering in his ear, _“She’s a little girl Damian, she didn’t mean anything by it.”_

His son swallowed, audibly, seemingly unsure how to respond when he suddenly straightened his shoulders under Bruce’s arm. “Well, it was an unkind thing to say.” 

“It really was, Lina, you need to apologize.” The little girl blinked like she wasn’t sure if she was angry or upset.

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s ok, really,” Bruce assured, “I knew she would think they were funny, that’s why I showed them to her.” The mother seemed truly embarrassed and simply grateful to end the conversation, quickly dragging her daughter back toward their family. 

Damian, again, also seemed embarrassed, posture stiff under his arm and head bowed over his sketchbook. “I...apologize for snapping.” Bruce squeezed his shoulders, feeling oddly protective suddenly. 

“It’s fine, I appreciate the backup.” And then Bruce hesitated a moment, thinking of his session with Dr. Xie.

__________

_“You need to show humility, be the worst person in the room and be fine with it.”_

_“Share something with your son that shows him you enjoy spending time with him.”_

__________

“I know I’m no artist though, Damian, I’m under no false impression that I’m going to greatly improve either.”

“Then...” Damian fiddled with the paper in front of him, curling the corner of a page over and over like he wanted to ask something but didn’t know how. Bruce ducked his head low, trying to get a glimpse of his face. He seemed anxious.

“I told you, I - wanted to come because I thought you would like it, and I wanted you to have fun.” 

Damian took a deep breath and straightened up once more. “You do not need to coddle me-“

“Damian,” Bruce interrupted, “one, letting you have fun is not coddling. Two, I _like_ seeing you have fun. It’s enjoyable for me too.” 

Damian turned his head, just enough to glance up at him out of the corner of his eye. “Really?” His voice was small, unsure.

The feeling of a fist clamped around Bruce’s heart took him entirely off guard and was enough to take his breath away. He tugged Damian’s hood off and leaned down, planting a firm kiss to the top of his head. 

“Yes, really.” 

The boy nodded, almost imperceptibly and quickly turned back to his drawing while clearing his throat. Bruce could see the blush rising in his face once more and carefully removed his arm from around his shoulders and went back to his own, allowing him the space to calm down if he needed it.

Bruce put in a halfhearted effort on his drawing but at some point he sort of gave up, starting to add embellishments to his already existing sketches, a cape on one, horns on another. You couldn’t tell what kind of animals they were anyway, he figured.

Eventually they moved to a different stable, greeting a new horse and drawing idly while a different stable hand fed him a carrot. Time seemed to go by quickly, and before Bruce realized it was already nearing sun down and people were slowly filtering out, the quiet echoes of thank you’s offered pulling them both out of the little peaceful bubble they’d been in.

Bruce tilted his drawing up, raking a critical eye over it before turning it toward his son.

“What do you think?” Damian looked up and stared at it with a twitching lip.

“It’s....”

“You can laugh, it’s terrible.” And Damian snickered, a surprised noise that he stifled with a hand clamped over his mouth, eyes squinted shut. Bruce felt that warmth in his chest again, just from seeing it.

He watched while Damian said goodbye to the horse and was able to get another photo, one where he was making eye contact with the camera, a tiny wrinkle in his forehead. They packed up slowly, shook the accumulated hay and grass particles on the blanket off before folding it up and tucking it back in the backpack, took their folding chairs to the front of the stables where they were stacked with the others and said thank you and goodbye to the staff.

“Could I...have your drawings from today?” Damian asked while they were making the walk back to the car, the sky darkening around them. 

“Why?” Bruce asked, frankly bewildered. Damian shrugged, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him do, it reminded him of Dick.

“They are...amusing.”

Bruce huffed a breath through his nose and shook his head. “Sure.” He handed over the whole clip board as they reached their vehicle, tucked the backpack in the backseat and when he slid into the front found Damian with the overhead light on, snapping multiple photos of his pictures with his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sending them to Grayson...and the Kents.” 

Bruce stifled a groan. “Perfect, I’m sure the hall of Justice will look great with those plastered all over the walls.” 

And then Damian laughed, out loud, in a way that Bruce had only heard a few times. Usually when Dick broke up a sparring session to tickle him into submission, or whispered something in his ear that Bruce always suspected was a joke at his expense.

“How about an equal exchange,” he asked as soon as he could talk around the lump in his throat. “I give you mine, you give me yours.” Damian pressed his mouth closed, nodding with no words as he flipped his sketchbook back open, suddenly bashful.

“Don’t remove them yet, I don’t want them to get creased or lost...but can I look at them?” Bruce held out a hand, and Damian slowly passed the book to him. Of course he had seen glimpses of some while they were there but he hadn’t gotten to truly look at them yet.

And as he flipped through them Bruce continued to marvel at his son’s talent. The detail and the shading that made each drawing look like it could stand up and walk off the page if it just decided to. “These are really beautiful Son.” Bruce murmured, running a careful finger over one of the drawings.

Damian flushed brighter than he had the entire day when Bruce handed them back. It struck the man as odd how self conscious he could be about this when in other aspects of his life he couldn’t seem to stop from bragging. 

“Thank you, but it is-“ Damian cut off, swallowed, and looked down, curling the corner of the page over and over again. Bruce waited for a moment, leaning forward and resting his wrists on the steering wheel.

“It’s what, Damian?” 

“It’s- not important.” Bruce sat there for a moment, very still, and frowned.

“What do you mean?” He wasn’t sure if Damian was saying that what he was about to say wasn’t important, or if he was referring to his drawings. Damian shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his own reflection in the car window as the sun continued to sink below the horizon outside. 

“Art. Is not important. There is little value in it beyond a historical standpoint and it is not something I should focus my attention on, I know. I don’t want you to think that it is a distraction, or that I have lost focus on our work.” 

Bruce sat there for a long moment, a rising sense of indignation coming over him at what he knew must have been something he’d been told when he was small. Something trainers and his mother alike probably pressed on him through time when he showed talent in anything but strategy, or fighting. Anything that wouldn’t benefit the League in some tangible way. He sucked in a deep breath and turned in his seat to face his son.

“Listen, Damian. I want you to understand that if you did decide you liked art, or anything, more than...more than _our work,_ that wouldn’t change your place in the family.” He swallowed, pushing out the words even when they caught in his throat. “You would still be my son.” Damian straightened, turning an alarmed look his direction.

“I love our work-“

“I know, I know you’re not giving up anything right now, and you have no plans to, and I’m not suggesting you do. I just wanted you to know. It’s ok to...have hobbies and things you enjoy outside of what we do. In fact I think it’s important.” 

Bruce thought of himself as a boy after his parents died, doing nothing but obsess over their deaths and finding the man who was responsible, growing up and rejecting everything that could have been meaningful in his life as not impactful enough, not important enough. He could never do something simply for the enjoyment of it, not for a very long time. He looked at his son and thought about all he had already been through in his very short life and wanted - he wanted so much more than that for him. 

He wanted so much better.

Damian seemed to consider his words carefully, staring directly at him in the yellow glow of the car’s overhead light before his gaze suddenly shifted back down. “Then...perhaps we could come back here again...they said they do these workshops about once a month and they plan on bringing on new animals in the future.”

Bruce was momentarily surprised and relieved, he knew Damian hadn’t hated the experience but part of him worried he had just been humoring him.

Damian though, took his surprised silence poorly and quickly backtracked, “Of course I understand you are very busy and taking the time to do this that often would be unrealistic, I do not expect you to take so much time away from-”

“Damian,” Bruce cut in, feeling an overwhelming swell of warmth in his chest, “I would love to. I had fun today.” He leaned over and wrapped both arms around the boy’s shoulders, folding him into a tight hug and pressing another kiss to the top of his head. The swell grew until it felt like his airway was being cut off. 

“I love you.” It was hard to get the words out and they sounded more pressed than he wanted but Damian went still, and then wrapped his wiry strong arms around Bruce in return and whispered it back. 

_“I love you too, Father.”_

Bruce felt very suddenly like he might cry and forced himself to just hold his breath until Damian pulled back. He was slightly red in the face and went immediately back to his phone. Bruce cleared his throat and started the car, sniffed once and then shifted into reverse and slowly pulled around to leave the lot. He wasn’t good at this. They could still barely look at each other but Bruce had said it, and he meant it, and he was glad that Damian _knew._

They were nearly the last car there, pulling back onto the road as the horizon blazed a thin strip of orange before it suddenly disappeared.

They stopped at Batburger on the way home. Damian got a veggie burger and fries, which he ate while telling Bruce about the behavioral patterns of pack animals he had been reading about.

Bruce bookmarked the site where he found the studio and looked up the farm separately to keep track of their events as well.

Dr. Xie smiled the entire time he told her about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Stop: Tim!
> 
> I will be getting the rest of the chapters of this fic written as quickly as I can churn them out, though I don’t know how fast that will be. I managed to get this 10k word chapter written in a single day @.@ but it was outlined in pretty decent detail before I started so the others will probably take longer....But I want to get this installment to the series finished as early as possible in the posting of CCAKT. (So I hopefully won’t get thrown off schedule there....) Anyway I hope you enjoyed and that you might leave a comment if you did!
> 
> Chapter title once again from the song Free by Mother Mother


	3. Let The Spirit Fly Out of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hike with Tim doesn’t go as planned, but they might just be better off in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim’s chapter is here!!! I wrote it as fast as I could, but I still didn’t manage to get it up before the next chapter of CCAKT. (Please check it out if you haven’t yet.) 
> 
> This chapter is...a lot. Originally I had planned this fic to be able to stand on it’s own but this chapter does make significant references to the first fic in the series _Live While I Breathe_ so you may really want to read it first, if you haven’t yet. It only really comes into play in the last 2k words of the fic and you can still kind of figure out what’s going on by context alone but...yeah. This fic is beginning to be a little more imbedded in the continuity of the series than I expected.
> 
> I told myself when I wrote Damian’s chapter and it ended up being over 10k words that it would probably be the longest chapter in the series. But then Tim came along. And this one is over 11k. I’m hoping that IT is the longest chapter in the series and telling myself I gave Tim some extra love because he had literally no lines in _Live While I Breathe._ But I’m just an extremely wordy person so who knows. 
> 
> This chapter has exceeding amounts of fluff so get ready.

After just a little back and forth, with Dr. Xie’s help, Bruce chose Tim as his next target.

_________

_He’s your second youngest, correct?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And he and Damian don’t get along very well?”_

_“...no.”_

__________

Bruce knew that all of his kids, to different extents, often felt that he had “favorite” children. Which was honestly preposterous, and mildly infuriating, but there were times he could see why they might have felt less important. And Bruce had never been very good at balancing the scales when he noticed.

He was sure a lunch here and there did not make up for the borderline verbal abuse Tim sometimes had to deal with from his youngest brother. He was...working on Damian, with Dick’s help. Slowly.

Dick and Cass he knew would understand, and probably be happy for it. Tim - well, he would understand too, but Bruce also knew he was the most likely to be hurt by an apparent exclusion. Even though, more than likely, he would never say a word to Bruce. Dr. Xie agreed.

________

_“It’s the middle children that often feel overlooked in any family, adopted or otherwise. It’s good to make sure they know they are seen._

_“So, what does Tim like to do?” Bruce shifted in his seat, thinking back._

_“He’s good with technology, and I know he enjoys photography. At least, he used to.”_  


________

Bruce had been researching what he could do with Tim for multiple days by the time he settled on something. He’d briefly considered a photography workshop of some sort but quickly dismissed the idea. If Tim and Damian _did_ ever compare notes he didn’t want either one of them to think he was doing this thoughtlessly, or that they were in any way interchangeable to him. No, it needed to be something distinctly different.

Tim had always had a talent for, and love of, technology but the only sort of things he could find involving robotics and the like were aimed at middle and high school students. Which, Tim was a high school _aged_...person, but Bruce didn’t think it was a good idea either. Tim’s schooling was a bit of a hot button issue and Bruce didn’t want to make him think he was making hints about his _wasted potential_ or anything of the sort.

In fact there were a few topics that were off limits during this “excursion.”

_______

_“I don’t want you to talk about work.”_

_“...Alright.”_

_“Do you know why?” Bruce thought about it, staring at the abstract painting on the wall behind her desk._

_“Because we’re supposed to be bonding?” She nodded and tilted her head back and forth._

_“Partially. Talking about work can be done at work. You can talk to any of your coworkers about work. It’s not always conducive to building on a father and son relationship, because it could be shared with anyone._

_“Talking about hobbies, interests, and personal lives is something you do with friends and family, not coworkers. There’s a place for it, but this is not it. Do you understand?”_

_“Yes, that - makes sense.” Bruce didn’t know why it never...occured to him before, but he felt that way about a lot of things that had come up so far in his sessions._

_“I also think you should avoid school, and his living situation.” Bruce frowned._

_“Those are personal.” She set her pencil down on her notepad and nodded._

_“Yes, and they are decidedly sensitive topics if everything you’ve told me about Tim is true. There is room for those conversations, but I think it would be best to wait. You don’t want him to think that you’ve brought him on a special, one on one field trip so you could corner him into a conversation he can’t escape.”_

_______

Once again Bruce had been mildly floored that the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. Not that he had been planning to bring any of it up, because she was right, they were sensitive topics and Bruce wanted this to be _fun._

And the schooling - that was...complicated, and Bruce was possibly, slowly, changing his perspective after being reminded of his long ago fights with Dick. And his own lack of degree. Of course he had a _high school diploma_ but that was - he was trying to see things differently.

The living situation though, was a harder one. Bruce didn’t like him being on his own so young. Dr. Xie pressed him to remember how he’d felt at the same age and that Tim had grown up in an empty house. He was used to taking care of himself and it was likely that the idea of relying on other people made him uncomfortable.

It also wasn’t unlikely that the addition of an antagonistic little brother had something to do with it. Bruce had...feelings about all of that. But he knew he had to let it be Tim’s decision and he was really trying not to assert control over other people’s lives. If he made it clear that he wanted Tim around more simply because he _liked_ having him around...that would likely make a difference.

But Bruce could table those discussions for the time being. This was about getting to know his son better and spending time with him, in a way that would be enjoyable for Tim. He didn’t want it to turn into an argument or put him on guard.

So he forewent the technology angle and looked back into photography. Tim used to, when he was small, venture out into Gotham at all hours of the night to photograph Batman and Robin, but he’d also gotten some fantastic shots of the cityscape.

He’d made _Gotham_ look beautiful.

So Bruce did more research. He looked up camera’s and local lookouts with famous sight-lines. He’d looked up different types of lenses and what they were good for, the different equipment made for creating effects and the positives and negatives of digital vs. traditional film cameras. After some time he’d had to remind himself that he wasn’t looking for _gifts_ to buy, but things to _do._

Eventually, he’d stumbled on a message board for photographers in the area. they were discussing their favorite places for landscape photography and Bruce finally, _finally_ found what he was looking for.

There was a state park about two hours north of Gotham that was supposed to have some spectacular views, including an old Evergreen tree with a lookout built into the branches, like an old tree house. It seemed perfect.

On a whim, after all the research, Bruce did buy a camera. But it wasn’t for Tim.

  
  


*

Finding the right moment to _ask_ Tim turned out to be even harder than deciding what to do with him. He didn’t want to be on patrol when he asked, not least of all because Damian was nearly always within earshot. And it was oddly difficult to find a moment with him in the office that wasn’t taken up with actual work. 

For how rarely Tim was around the manor these days, Bruce, in end, resorted to a phone call. It was an evening when Damian was sparring with Cass in the cave and Bruce had finished his paperwork, Alfred was working on all the various things he did and Bruce was left with quiet privacy, for once.

Tim answered on the third ring.

_“Hey Bruce.”_

“Tim, hi.” And then, for some reason, he fell silent.

 _“Um, so, is this about Paul’s proposal? Because I was looking it over and it’s not bad...I think I’d make some changes before going forward but...it’s a good basic plan.”_ Bruce cleared his throat, trying to shake the paralysis in his tongue. He was inviting his son on a hike, what was there even to be nervous about? What was wrong with him?

“No, um, it’s not about WE.”

_“Oh...what’s up?”_

“How are you?” There was some rustling on the other end, a pause.

 _“I’m...good. Why?”_ Bruce frowned, reaching for the gold pen perched in a holder on his desk.

“I haven’t gotten to speak to you for a few days.”

_“We saw each other last night.”_

“Out of mask, I mean.” He picked up the pen, uncapping the lid and setting the tip to the back of a finance report.

 _“Oh, well uh...I’m fine...is um, is everything ok?”_ Bruce drew an aimless line.

“What do you mean? Why would something be wrong?”

 _“I...don’t know, you’re just...I don’t know, nevermind.”_ There was another awkward silence and Bruce stopped doodling abruptly, feeling vaguely wrong footed. 

_“So...um, why did you call?”_ Tim asked when the silence stretched for too long.

“I did some research,” Bruce started, dragging the pen across the paper again, “I found a state park that’s supposed to have some amazing views. I wondered if you might...want to go hiking there this weekend.”

He put down the pen and leaned back in his desk chair, staring at the clock across the room.

_“...Hiking?”_

“Yes...I’ve been reading about a trail in High Point State Park that I’d like to do. It’s supposed to be beautiful this time of year and I thought - maybe you’d like to bring your camera and we...could go.” He lost steam toward the end, closing his eyes at his own ineptitude.

 _“Um...”_ Tim sounded hesitant, and Bruce wondered, again, if he’d misstepped somehow.

“It doesn’t have to be this weekend.” He quickly added, feeling anxious for some reason, like he wouldn’t know what to do if Tim said no. He wondered, briefly, if this was what his kid’s felt like when they asked him to do things, and then abruptly felt guilty for every no he’d ever given.

 _“No - it’s fine. I’m just...surprised. I mean. We’ve never gone hiking before. I didn’t know you liked it.”_ Tim sounded confused, possibly even a little suspicious and Bruce wasn’t sure how to respond exactly.

While he’d never hated nature, he also didn’t share a great love for it like Clark or even Damian. Perhaps it was only because he didn’t have many good memories in the outdoors. Most of his experience in nature through the years had been survivalist training, which usually ended with him injured or barely alive.

But, he couldn’t tell Tim _‘I don’t really, I’m just trying to find a way to bond with you.’_ Nor, _‘My therapist is helping me connect with my children and this was her suggestion.’_

It wasn’t that his kids didn’t know he was in therapy. They all knew, but so far none of them had asked him about it. Not anyone but Dick anyway, who’d only asked him if it was going ok, no details, nothing prying. Bruce wondered if they thought he’d be embarrassed or that it was an invasion of privacy or if they simply, like Bruce himself, didn’t know how to bring it up. It wasn’t like Bruce had gone through some sort of overnight transformation. He’d only been going for about a month so far.

There was also a part of him that wondered if they were waiting for him to quit.

“No, I’ve never really been either...” Bruce started, and then he thought, he should just say something about it, casually, it didn’t have to be a big deal, “I’ve been...talking to Dr. Xie about doing more things out of costume, as me.” This was also true, and had been suggested. “I thought this could be something...to do.”

 _“Oh.”_ There was a short pause and then, _“U-um, yeah, yeah of course I’ll go hiking this weekend, that’s totally - I can definitely do that. When do you wanna go?”_

He sounded more enthused than Bruce anticipated, he said it all so fast even that Bruce had to blink for a moment to parse out the words.

“I thought we could leave early Saturday morning, drive up around sunrise before the trail gets crowded.”

_“Ok, yeah. Who’s all going?”_

“Just us.”

_“Hm?”_

“Just the two of us, Tim.” Bruce leaned forward at his desk, resting his elbows on the hard surface.

 _“Oh,”_ Tim said, more quietly, _“You’re not inviting Dick and Cass? Or - Damian?”_ Bruce knew there was a lot more to the question than there seemed and he tried to answer casually. 

“No, just you. I’ll find something to do with them too, another time.”

 _“Oh, ok.”_ Bruce couldn’t quite parse the tone of his voice then, something like surprise, but not quite. _“Yeah I...I’d like that.”_

Bruce took a deep breath, rolling his pen across the desk as he let it out. “Great, I can pick you up on Saturday? Around six?”

_“Yeah, that...sounds good. What should I bring?”_

  
  


*

Six in the morning was very early. Bruce knew this. 

But all the posts on the message board he’d read said the trail could get very busy toward the late morning and the drive to get there was nearly two hours. So he drank a large cup of coffee, brought a second travel mug with him, and watched Alfred load his chosen Audi SQ5 with multiple thermoses, trail mix, and entirely too much food, wrapped and secured in a large plastic bin with a vacuum sealed lid. 

“We’re only going for the day Al.” He cleared this throat, trying to get rid of the gruff croak of the early morning.

“I am aware.” He hummed back, arranging the thermoses so they were wedged between the bin and the outer wall of the trunk. Bruce spied a stack of blankets folded neatly next to the food.

“Sort of seems like you’re planning for us to get stuck up there for at least a few days.” Alfred gave a mild huff and turned a soft glare in his direction.

“I simply want the day to go well. This way you won’t want for anything.” When Bruce had told him the plan he hadn’t even asked for anything. He figured they’d do the trail and then go get lunch somewhere after, eat snacks on the way up and back down. But Alfred had scoffed and had seemed almost overly enthused about contributing. 

He’d apparently redeemed himself after the _‘training exercise’_ with Damian.

So Bruce didn’t argue, whatever Alfred packed for them was bound to be better than anything they could get somewhere else. He finished tucking everything in place and turned to Bruce.

“Usually, the standard response is _thank you.”_

Bruce gave him a wry look as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“You’re very welcome, Master Bruce.” Alfred nodded and moved to leave the garage, laying a hand briefly on his shoulder as he walked past. “I hope you have a wonderful time.” 

Bruce hummed back, as he stared at the contents of the trunk before finally moving to close the hatch. He pulled out his phone as he slipped in the drivers seat and sent a quick text to let Tim know he was on his way and immediately received a thumbs up in return.

He sent another text when he pulled up to the curb at Tim’s place and waited, just a little longer than he expected, for Tim to come down. When he finally did he carried a backpack with him, his camera hung around his neck, and he was wearing warm, sensible clothes, complete with a bright orange knit hat and matching scarf. He smiled at Bruce when he opened the passenger door, after leaving his pack in the backseat with Bruce’s.

“Morning.” He croaked, throat still scratchy from disuse.

“Morning.” Bruce watched him set his own travel mug in the cup holder as he got himself situated. He looked very tired, Bruce thought, but it was extremely early, and Tim usually looked tired.

He yawned and covered his mouth as Bruce pulled back onto the street.

“You have a good morning?” Tim blinked at him, eyes half lidded, and hummed quietly.

“I woke up when you texted you were on your way.” Bruce nodded.

“That’s why I texted.” Tim nodded, leaning heavily against the door.

“Trust Batman to think ahead.” Bruce smiled to himself as he moved through traffic. He missed this. Back when Tim was Robin they spent so much time together, just the two of them, but it was hard to come by now.

“Why don’t you go back to sleep. It’s a long drive and I don’t want you to be tired out by the time we get there.”

“Mhm.” He already had his eyes closed and his face turned halfway toward the window, expression slack.

About twenty minutes in he began softly snoring, something Bruce wasn’t sure he’d heard from him before. He wondered vaguely if it was the weather, of it there was a dust problem in his apartment. Either way, it reminded Bruce of how young Tim was. He looked very small, curled up against the window, hat pulled so low it almost covered his eyes.

Bruce wished he could get another hour or two of sleep himself, but he enjoyed the drive anyway. The quiet was nice, and the slowly rising sun in the background. It wasn’t something you got to see much in Gotham. Too many buildings in the way, but on the freeway, out further and further away from the city, it was clearly visible, and beautiful.

Tim coughed in his sleep and roughly swiped at his nose without opening his eyes, it reminded Bruce of a little kid. He reached out and turned the radio on very quietly, settling in for the rest of the drive.

  
  


*

Bruce reached out a hand and gently shook his son’s shoulder. 

“Tim, we’re here.” He blinked his eyes open slowly, lifting a hand to push his hat back as he slowly sat up and away from the window. A string of spit followed him and Bruce raised his eyebrows when Tim blushed and quickly wiped at his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and then the window.

“So gross.” He heard him mumble under his breath as Bruce slipped out of the car. He grabbed his own pack, with snacks and their water, and stuck a thermos in the outer pockets on either side. Bruce had finished up his coffee on the way up and was fairly certain Tim was downing the rest of his before he even got out of the car. He went to the back seat as his son finally opened his door and grabbed Tim’s backpack to hand to him. 

Bruce paused when he shut the door, looking down at the army green backpack. “Tim what did you bring? This bag is pretty heavy for a change of socks and some trail mix.” Tim quickly took it from him, slinging it over his shoulders a little awkwardly with all his layers.

“It’s just some extra lenses for my camera, they can be kind of heavy.”

“Hn.”

It was very cold, and a slight fog hung in the trees. They had parked off the side of a gravel drive. While there was an actual parking lot in a different section of the park Bruce had read there were sometime’s thefts and it was generally acceptable to leave your car anywhere there was room without blocking the path. The care was equipped with plenty of safety features but he’d prefer to avoid any chance of conflict.

Time sniffed and wiped at his nose. “Man it’s freezing.”

“It’ll warm up.” Bruce reached back in the car one last time and pulled out his own camera bag, pulling the strap over his neck and looking up to find Tim openly staring.

“I...thought I might try it.”

“Yeah, no - that’s cool.” Tim swallowed, seeming oddly nervous to Bruce’s eye. “So, where to first?”

Bruce pulled out his phone, choosing to ignore the apparent nerves. Tim would probably just get more nervous if he questioned him.

There were a couple options for the trails and Bruce outlined them carefully before they got started on the first path. It was narrow initially, framed on either side with sticker bushes that dragged at their packs and clothes. Tim clutched his camera close, absent of protective cover, as they went, up until it widened out into a relatively open wooded area with a slight incline.

Tim sniffled...quite a bit. Bruce watched him while he looked through the view finder of his camera, pulling back and making minute adjustments to the settings while they walked. It was silent but for the noises of birds and frogs as they went, no other people in sight. Tim didn’t seem bothered but Bruce felt more and more like he should say something and not let their day be nothing but a quiet wander through the woods to look at some nice plants and the river below the lookout.

“Do you do much photography anymore?” Tim glanced up from his camera. “I know you used to, a lot.” He shrugged, looking back into the view finder and narrowly avoiding a knotted tree root with his left foot.

“It’s been a while, but I’ve been wanting to get back into it.” Bruce nodded, reaching out to pinch a bramble off the fuzz of Tim’s hat.

“You should. I was looking through some of your old photo’s the other night. They’re really something.” Tim looked up again, an expression of obvious surprise on his face.

“Oh, um...thanks.” His cheeks were pink but Bruce wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or mild embarrassment. “This is nice.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, “I mean - for getting back into it.” He sniffed and wiped at his nose again, then coughed shortly into his elbow before clearing his throat. Bruce frowned.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, fine.” The answer was flippant, and if it were any of his kids but Tim he would probably take it at face value.

“Your nose is running.”

“It’s just cold out. My nose always runs when it’s cold.”

“Hn.” Bruce accepted the answer, not wanting to start things off on the wrong foot and thinking, really, it was a relatively typical reaction to cold temperatures.

The climb became steeper as they went, transitioning from packed dirt to a mixture of mud, grass, and gravel, winding up around sheer hillsides with trees sprouting out of them at sharp angles. While Bruce would have expected Tim to have no trouble with this, considering his training, he seemed to be pretty tired out by it, breathing hard, suppressing a number of cough’s. Bruce resisted commenting multiple times, telling himself to let it go.

Tim didn’t like being mothered and while Bruce never thought of himself as the type he couldn’t deny that he might tend to lean in that direction.

They stopped at a particularly beautiful lookout, rounding the top of a winding path and coming to a wooden bridge that stretched over a short gap in the Earth. The path they had already traveled wound out beneath them, disappearing in the slight fog that still hung in the air, dispersing slowly as the temperature rose. 

It was at this point that Bruce finally attempted to use his camera. He’d fiddled with the settings the night it was delivered but beyond a few experimental shorts of the inside of his study he hadn’t done much with it.

“That’s a Leica M6 right?” Tim asked, after lowering his own camera, looking back at Bruce where he fiddled with the focus.

“Yes, you know it just by looking?” Tim shrugged again, taking a few steps further onto the bridge and crouching down for a different angle

“I have a Leica CL I got a while back, for daytime photography in the city. It’s a good brand, I’ve looked into their other models.”

“Hn, why the CL?” Bruce snapped a shot, wondering, vaguely, if any of them would be worth looking at in the end.

“It’s small, quiet, discrete.” 

“So you felt like could relate to it?” Bruce lifted his eyes, glancing just over the top of his camera and to the right. Tim gave him an unamused look.

“You should really leave the jokes to Dick.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He raised the camera again, trying to get the right focus on a distant tree with wildly different colored leaves. He heard Tim huff a breath through his nose.

They moved on shortly after, continuing up to a sharp turn that followed a poorly made wooden sign with a warning for falling debris. There was wire mesh secured over large boulders in the muddy looking surface to their right, a drop off to their left.

“So why’d you pick the M6?” Tim huffed from just ahead of him, readjusting his backpack on his shoulders and coughing lightly.

“Well, I don’t know much about photography so first I did research on the positives and negatives of traditional vs. digital cameras.”

“And you went with traditional.”

“Yes.”

“How come?” He looked back over his shoulder, and Bruce had to stop himself from telling him to watch his step before he turned quickly back around.

“I...there wasn’t anything great or obvious that struck me. I suppose I liked that the photo quality is generally better, and that whatever comes out of a traditional photo will be an exact representation. No editing.”

“You _can_ edit traditional photo’s though, you know.” Tim took a small hop from one large stone to another. Bruce made a vague noise of agreement.

“I suppose.”

“But I know what you mean.” Tim turned around and faced him, walking backwards. “And why the M6?”

Bruce glanced down at it, running a hand over the slightly bumpy surface. “I liked that it was purely mechanical, no batteries or charging necessary.” He shrugged, “It seemed more reliable.”

Tim grinned unexpectedly. “You are so predictable sometimes.” And then abruptly he coughed, hard and loud, making him stumble just enough that Bruce jolted forward, grasping his arm and tugging him toward the non cliffside so he didn’t slip right off. It continued for a few solid, choked off breaths until Tim subtly pulled his arm out of his Bruce’s grip and straightened his clothes.

“Are you sure you feel ok?”

“Yeah it’s fine.” Tim pulled his hat down, tugging the orange fabric to solidly cover his ears before he turned back to face the trail again. “Just some allergies. I don’t spend a lot of time in nature, you know?”

“Right.” Bruce finally acquiesced, in-spite of the decidedly nasally tone of his words. Tim kept right on walking, not letting the pause in conversation stop him. Bruce watched his back, eyes grazing over the tense hold of his shoulders and deciding it wasn’t the right moment, he wasn’t going to make a big deal of something if Tim said he was fine. He trusted him.

“So,” Bruce threw out, after he silence had dragged on long enough it was beginning to feel awkward, “what makes me so predictable, exactly.”

Bruce was paying attention, so he didn’t miss the sly swipe of a hand under his son’s nose before he responded.

“Oh you know, just that you would choose traditional film over digital because of _accuracy.”_ He glanced back again, eyes amused, “Very in character.”

“Hn...I would argue-“

“But you can’t!” He lifted a hand, finger pointing in the air and Bruce huffed a soft laugh.

“What about you? Are you a fan of digital photography?” Bruce took a few long strides to catch up as the path widened out and they began walking deeper into a wooded area again. Tim shrugged.

“They both have their benefits. For crime scenes or evidence gathering I usually go for digital because it’s best to snap as many shots as you can get and try to put together the story later. As far as photo quality and light and contrast etcetera, etcetera, digital and traditional are pretty on par, despite what some diehard fans of one of the other might say.” Tim paused in front of a large downed tree that came up to just above his hips. Hands still gripping his backpack straps he turned around, leaning his back against the bark and did a quick roll over the top, like a backward somersault with a twist halfway through so he didn’t roll over his bag. He landed with both feet on wet mud and cursed softly.

“Good execution, but always look before you leap.” Bruce made the not insignificant jump to stand on the tree before he deftly sprung over the muddy patch onto damp packed dirt and gravel.

“Oh, how could I forget?” Tim rolled his eyes, wiping his feet on the grass at the side of the path. Bruce smirked and snagged the camera strap around his neck, pulling him back onto the trail before he batted his hand away.

“So, you don’t have a favorite then?” Bruce asked as they moved into a clearing. There were tiny yellow flowers spotting the grass and Tim paused suddenly, Bruce nearly running into the back of him.

“I didn’t say that.” Tim pulled his camera up again, popping off the lens cover and shuffling a few feet off the path. He knelt in the grass, looking at something Bruce couldn’t identify. All he could see was grass and the little flowers. “Traditional’s my favorite too, but it’s not because of anything to do with photo quality or _accuracy.”_ Tim pulled off his backpack, unzipping the top to look inside. “I like that...” He paused as he pulled out a small, circular, black canvas container that unzipped to reveal a new camera lens. He stared into the little bubbled glass for a moment, thumb brushing the dangling zipper on the canvas.

Quite abruptly he went about changing the lens out on his camera. “I like that with traditional photography, it takes more thought, you can’t shoot aimlessly, you have to conserve your film, so you have to think out every shot before you take it, so you don’t waste it. And I like that there’s no preview image, you take the shot, and you have to have faith that it’s good, you can’t check your work as you go.” He replaced the old lends in the little zippered bag and slipped it back in his backpack and put his eye up to the view finder, adjusting the focus slowly and leaning very far down until the camera was level with the flowers.

“It takes a certain amount of confidence,” His voice was suddenly lowered and Bruce watched, a little fascinated, wondering what exactly it was he was even taking a picture of, while he subtly adjusted the focus on his own camera.

“And you can do so much with developing techniques, and there’s different kinds of film for different color quality and any number of things.” He leaned even further forward, resting his elbows in the grass. “I guess I just think traditional is more fun.”

Bruce gave a soft hum of acknowledgement as he lifted his camera and crouched down for a better angle. He pressed the shutter release at the same time as his son, the soft click’s coming in immediate succession. 

Tim whipped his head to the side, seeing that Bruce had very clearly been pointing his camera directly at him as he lowered it.

“What was that?” He pushed himself up to rest on his knees again, giving Bruce a quizzical look.

“I took a picture of you.” Tim gave an amused scoff as he replaced the lens protector.

“I noticed, why?” Bruce watched him carefully as he got to his feet, noticing the self conscious habit he had of adjusting his scarf repeatedly, tucking the ends back into his jacket.

“I think it’s about time you were the subject. You’ve got years worth of photo’s of me. It’s only fair.”

Tim slipped his backpack on and pushed himself to his feet with a confused wrinkle between his brows. “That was... _you,_ ” Tim said, clearly wanting to avoid the B word in a relatively public place, “You were doing interesting, amazing things. This is just me, looking at some colorful mushroom spores.” He mumbled the words as he bent over and brushed off his knees, damp circles on each one from the wet grass.

Bruce frowned, eyebrows drawing together. He thought of Dr. Xie, about how middle children often feel ignored. And then he thought about Tim, being an only child before, and still feeling ignored.

Bruce should say something. Make a statement about Tim’s importance in his life. He was trying not to let that sort of thing go anymore. 

Tim cleared his throat and turned back to the trail, and Bruce strode up to walk beside him, trying to find the right words.

 _Just say what you’re thinking. Be blunt. It doesn’t have to be perfect._ It was becoming a mantra, something he recited to himself before every awkward word.

“It’s still interesting.” The words came eventually, but not until after they had exited the clearing and were a ways down the path again. Tim looked up at him, expression mildly surprised. “You’re still...interesting to me. Whether you’re in costume or yourself.” Bruce glanced down just in time to make a split second of eye contact before his son blushed noticeably, even over the color already in his cheeks, and snapped his gaze to his feet. 

He coughed into his elbow and gave a halfhearted, obviously force laugh, “Right.” 

“Tim-“

“So the other day, when you called,” Tim rushed out, picking up his steps until he was just ahead of Bruce, his face out of sight but not the back of his neck, just visible between the top of his scarf and the bottom of his hat, which was bright red. “I mentioned that proposal? From Paul? did you get a chance to look at it yet?”

Bruce wasn’t stupid, and neither was Tim, so the utterly transparent and hasty subject change was somewhat bewildering.

“The...proposal.”

Tim cleared his throat and sniffed with a nod. “Yeah, the one for the new charity drive.” Bruce had a hard time formulating a response for multiple reasons.

One, Tim was obviously only bringing this up to avoid whatever he thought Bruce had been about to say, and two, work was one of the off limit topics. Mask or official.

Tim’s obvious discomfort made Bruce reluctant to force the subject, even if...even if maybe he should. That was something he wasn’t sure about yet. when to force a conversation and when to let it be. It didn’t seem to be ‘the right moment’ anymore based solely on how reluctant Tim was to talk about it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need to hear it...

Bruce had forced conversations when he shouldn’t in the past, as well as let things go when he he shouldn’t have. But, he reasoned, this wasn’t urgent, even if it was important.

Most of all though Bruce didn’t want to ruin their outing by making it awkward and uncomfortable. But he also couldn’t talk about work. 

“I...haven’t...looked at the proposal yet. But...” He struggled to find an appropriate subject change with how many were off limits. 

“I’d rather not talk about work though, while we’re out here.” Bruce finally offered, after an awkward pause that had obviously made Tim tense. “Why don’t you tell me about the camera you brought today?” He offered, hoping to put him at ease, at least, that he wasn’t going to make him talk about It. 

It did the trick, the tension slowly bled out of his spine and he gradually slowed his pace, until they were walking side by side again. “Um, sure. It’s a Nikon FM2. It’s just one of my favorite camera’s. It’s light weight and it’s really consistent in quality, which can be lacking in other models. It’s one of my oldest too...I...actually used to take it out in Gotham at night sometimes.”

“You did?” Bruce asked, looking at the camera with an entirely new perspective.

“Yeah, the shutter speed is one four-thousandth of a second, which is four times faster than most, so it’s great for taking action sho-“ Without warning his voice went gravelly and the word died on a harsh cough, followed by more of the same until he was turned away from Bruce, face shoved in the crook of his elbow and hacking up half his lung.

They stopped walking entirely and Bruce hovered awkwardly to the side, hand raised over his shoulder but not touching him, concern sinking back into his chest with every harsh breath. Eventually they faded off and he stood there just to catch his breath.

“Tim. I think you’re sick.” Bruce said, dropping his hand back to his side.

“No,” He half coughed, “it’s just allergies, I’m fine.” His voice was still congested and he cleared his throat loudly. Bruce was not impressed.

“I’ve never seen you experience allergies in your life Tim. You have a cold.” He actually rolled his eyes, pulling his beanie off and smoothing out his hair before he resettled it on his head.

“You haven’t even known me my whole life. I’ve had allergies. It must be something in bloom out here or something...” Bruce frowned harder, as Tim turned to continue down the path, eyeing the backpack hanging from his shoulders with suspicion. He didn’t understand the denial. Tim maybe was having a hard time adjusting to the loss of his spleen but he didn’t usually become unreasonable unless something else was at play.

He remembered how heavy it had been when he picked it up out of the car. There was no way he had brought that many camera lenses with him. 

Bruce casually followed, walking at an unhurried pace, but his legs were much longer than Tim’s and he caught up easily. In one smooth motion he reached out and unzipped the backpack, yanking the largest flap open far enough that he could clearly see its contents.

Tim stumbled and Bruce grabbed the shoulder straps in each hand and held him steady at the same time that he let out a heavy sigh.

_“Tim.”_

Tim went still, shoulders guiltily pulled up to his chin and face turned away. Because what Bruce found piled high in his backpack was not camera lenses. Instead, there was a full bottle of Musinex, plus a half empty bottle of DayQuil and what appeared to be an old prescription of cough syrup with codeine. Following those there were three packs of tissues, and a bag of cough drops.

Oh, and there were two camera lenses and one pair of socks.

Bruce zipped the bag closed and pulled the straps off each of Tim’s shoulders, so he was holding it by the loop on the top, then he took his son by the arm and turned him around to face him.

Tim stared at the ground, “It’s really not that bad.” And then he sniffed and let out a weak, suppressed little cough. Bruce was trying not to get upset because they had _talked_ about this. 

“Tim, you don’t have a spleen. Every illness is that bad. You should not - you know you shouldn’t be out here in the cold.” Tim scowled when he finally turned his chin up to look at him.

“I know what I can handle Bruce, I’m fine.”

“And I’m sure that’s exactly why you decided to hide all the supplies in your backpack and didn’t tell me you were sick.” He shook the bag for good measure, plastic bottle sloshing around in side.

“Because I knew how you would react! I’m fine!” Time crossed his arms over his chest, the picture of a sullen teenager and Bruce’s frustration was mounting, despite his best efforts.

“If you had told me when I called we could have pushed it out.”

“I wasn’t sick when you called! I didn’t start feeling sick until two days ago.” He sneezed just then, bending forward and aiming his face to the side. Bruce begrudgingly opened the bag again and dug out a pack of tissues.

“Here.”

Tim took it, barely short of snatching it out of his hand. Bruce watched him tear the plastic open and pull one out with a heavy, irritated sniff and waited until he had blown his nose to say anything else.

“You should have just told me Tim, we could have rescheduled.” He very nearly added _‘This is why you shouldn’t live on your own,’_ but just barely managed to bite his tongue. It would just make it worse. The topic was off limits and he would stick to that. 

“I didn’t need to reschedule because I’m fine!” The words came out much louder than Bruce was expecting, perhaps louder than Tim had been expecting. His voice cracked noticeably on the last word and he was thrown into another coughing fit. One that had Bruce honestly concerned. He put a hand between his shoulder blades and steered him to sit on a log on the side of the trail where he continued to cough, and cough, and _cough._

Right up until he choked, gagged, and then spit up something noticeably green in the grass. Bruce rubbed his back, stomach twisting over itself, quickly transitioning from irritated to plainly worried. Tim wheezed for air for a moment, face beet red, eyes watering. 

Bruce quickly shrugged off his own pack and pulled out a bottle of water. “Small sips.” He said when he handed it over.

Tim took it with a shaking hand and dutifully sipped from the bottle until his breathing was back to normal. He sniffed loudly and glared at his hands.

“It’s just the cough medicine wearing off. I need another dose.”

Bruce took a deep breath and tried not to sigh too audibly when he reached into Tim’s backpack.

“Which one? If you’ve take _half_ of what’s in here it’s a wonder you aren’t high.” Tim glanced in the bag and shrugged.

“I took the DayQuil before, I just threw everything in the bag when you texted you were there, just in case.” He took the bright yellow bottle much more politely than the tissues, unscrewed the lid and took a swig straight from the bottle.

“We’re going back to the car.” Bruce said, somewhere between annoyed, concerned, and disappointed.

Tim looked like he might just argue for all of two second before he sniffed again and nodded in defeat. Bruce stood back up from the log and shouldered his bag then picked up Tim’s by the top strap.

“Bruce, I can carry it.” He cleared his throat again when his voice came out half strangled, looking annoyed at himself more than anything.

“I’ve got it.”

 _“Bruce.”_ He held out a hand that Bruce stared at, trying to decide if he was being logical and reasonable or if he was passive aggressively trying to teach Tim a lesson. He honestly couldn’t decide and finally handed the bag back over. They had only been walking for maybe forty minutes, mostly uphill. The return journey would be much shorter and easier.

“Thank you.” Was the nasally, quiet reply before they finally started back toward the car in silence.

Bruce was trying, mostly in vain, to find a way to talk about this without turning it into an argument, wondering the whole time why Tim wouldn’t just _rest_ when he needed it. They had talked about it, the first time Tim nearly fainted off the side of a building as Red Robin and then again when he came to a board meeting with a fever.

It wasn’t like-

Bruce took a deep breath, pushing to expand his chest as he stopped the spiral of thought. Surely it wasn’t just hubris. Tim wasn’t like that. He was - well, he was like Bruce.

________

_“When you find yourself, sometimes, exhibiting behavior that you recognize as unhealthy, do you ever ask yourself how it might be affecting your children? They follow your lead Bruce. If you have a hard time kicking certain habits they can be a good motivation._

_“Think about what you would want them to do in your situation, and think about how you would react, if you caught them handling it how you are handling it. Remember that they see you, they see much more than you think. Children learn by example much better than instruction. Whether you would categorize them as “children” or not.” ___

____

________

Bruce knew that he was not...a good example, when it came to respecting his own limits. But that was half of how he became Batman, It was - it wasn’t the same and-

God he was a terrible example.

But there _was_ a difference. There was a difference between pushing yourself when it was necessary, and pushing yourself because you simply didn’t want to accept that you shouldn’t do something.

But Tim was smart. And he had been doing better. He’d called in sick to work when he was run down, he’d cancelled patrol a couple nights, even after Damian had mocked him for it. So what was the difference now?

Very slowly, the most plausible answer dawned on him, leaving him with an uncomfortable knot in the pit of his stomach and a guilty weight in his chest.

“Tim.” He swallowed, and tempered his voice when his son glanced at him with apprehension clear on his face. “You don’t have to-...” He rubbed a hand over his face, scrubbing it though his hair and trying, as always, to find the right words.

“I know I mentioned this was part of me - trying to do something my therapist had suggested. But that’s not your responsibility Tim, you aren’t- you aren’t obligated to make sure that I’m...” Bruce shook his head, not finding the words after all.

Tim didn’t say anything for a long time, and Bruce stared straight ahead, unsure how to continue when Tim finally let out a soft sigh and slowed to a stop on the path.

“That’s not why Bruce.” His voice was soft and a little hesitant and when Bruce finally turned to face him, and look at him for real, his shoulders sagged and he looked uncomfortable.

That was...at least something. He took a deep breath and gripped the straps of his backpack. “Then can you tell me why, please? Because from where I’m standing, you know better than to take risks like this. You’re immune system will adjust over time, you won’t have to be so cautious forever.”

Tim hung his head a little, hiding his nose in his scarf.

“I know...I’m sorry.”

“Tim.”

He tried to sound gentle, coaxing instead of demanding.

His son took a deep breath and looked at the ground, posture stiff and clearly nervous. 

“It’s just...” He started, before giving a soft shake of his head, “it’s stupid, I’m sorry, let’s just go back to the car. I’ll call in sick on Monday.” He sniffed loudly and pulled out another tissue, blowing his nose and stuffing the tissue into the back pocket of his jeans. He went to continue on the path, to walk right past Bruce but he put out a hand, gripping his shoulder and stopping him in his tracks. 

“Tim. Will you tell me please? Stupid doesn’t sound like you.”

Tim hesitated, worrying his bottom lip and then stopping immediately. Something Bruce had noticed him do before, something left over from being the son of socialites so overly concerned with their image they couldn’t leave him a single nervous habit. His eyes darted off to the side, into the bushes and trees.

“It’s just...I didn’t _want_ to reschedule. We don’t...we don’t do stuff just the two of us, hardly ever, anymore. And when you asked me - I was excited.” He glanced up once, before his eyes darted away again. “And yeah, it was a little bit...what you said, I wanted to help with your - with your therapy stuff, but I also just didn’t want you to think I didn’t want to come and we’re all so busy all the time and things always come up and I was afraid if we had to reschedule it would never happen and I didn’t...I didn’t want to miss it.” 

Bruce looked down at him, at his bright orange beanie with tufts of hair sticking out the bottom, and his heart throbbed.

Tim didn’t think of himself as a priority, he never had. Bruce knew that, to a certain extent, but that he thought Bruce wouldn’t make time for him was just - he hated to think he had set that pattern. He loved this kid, he loved him _so much_ and- and he should say it. He should say it so much more.

________

_Bruce cleared his throat, feeling his palms sweat and the muscles in his neck tighten, threatening to cut off his airway._

_“How often...should I tell them I love them?” He felt like a terrible parent just asking it, but it had never been easy for him and he just - he didn’t know. He really didn’t know. How often did they need to hear it to know it was true? He knew he didn’t say it enough now, but what should his goal be? What was his aim here? He didn’t want to start spouting it at every turn and have them think he was just putting on some sort of show._

_Bruce still felt stupid asking. But Dr. Xie just tilted her head like she was thinking, eyes going unfocused for a second._

_“How often do you think it?” Bruce blinked at her a moment, hands clasped in his lap._

_“What do you mean?”_

_“How often do you look at your children and think ‘I love this kid.’?” Bruce swallowed, shifting in his seat and thinking back._

_“Nearly every time I’m with them.” She smiled, just a slight upturn of her lips._

_“Then that should be your goal. Remember it’s not just for them. It’s good for you to say it...and it’s good to hear it in return.”_

________

Tim sniffed and hunched his shoulders, the tip of his nose glowing a steady red now.

“I’m sorry I made you drive all the way out here so we could hike for forty minutes and not even get to see anything cool.”

“Tim, son.” Bruce took him by the elbow, tugging him in and not missing the surprise on his face when he folded him into a hug. “I don’t care about that. Just because we wouldn't have come up here for a hike doesn’t mean we couldn’t spend the day together. I would have been happy to hang out with you in your apartment and watch a couple movies today.” He swallowed roughly, resting his chin lightly on the cushion of Tim’s hat.

“I love you Tim. I like spending time with you.”

Tim sniffed, “I’ll get you sick though.” The words were muffled in his shirt and spoken in a watery voice that had Bruce’s chest clenching again.

“I think I can risk it. Some of us still have spleens.”

Tim pulled away with a wet laugh and shoved him in the chest, “Shut up.”

A smile tugged at Bruce’s mouth as he watched him for a moment, straightening out his clothes and sniffing, subtly wiping at his eyes.

“I have an idea.” Bruce took off his backpack, shifting it around to hang over his front, straps wrapped over the backs of his shoulders. “Put your camera in your bag.”

Tim eyed him warily, “Why?”

“Just do it, please.” He grumbled but complied, before slipping his pack back on his shoulders. Then Bruce turned away from Tim, knelt down, and held his arms out behind him.

“Hop on.”

“Bruce.” His voice was incredulous, “I’m fine, I can walk.”

“I’m aware. Get on.”

_“Bruce.”_

_“Tim.”_

“Oh my _God.”_ But finally he heard his feet shuffle forward in the grass and Tim’s weight settled on his back, arms wrapping a little hesitantly around his neck and shoulders, allowing Bruce to loop his arms under his knees and easily pick him up.

“There, see? Not so hard.”

Tim huffed, and it was right next to his ear, where he had settled his chin on his shoulder.

“I’m not a baby you know.” He said in his now clearly congested voice. “I can take care of myself, present situation notwithstanding.”

“Hn,” Bruce stepped over a branch in the pathway, remembering the large log they were still heading toward. “You sound like Damian.”

Tim scoffed and Bruce could feel his arms stiffen around his shoulders. _“Wow,_ ok. Didn’t realize I’d backslid _that_ much.” His tone was biting, and clearly offended, more so than he’d planned going by the immediate click of his teeth in Bruce’s ear, like he couldn’t get his mouth shut fast enough. 

Bruce didn’t speak for a moment and Tim swallowed. “That, I mean - it was a joke.” Tim offered halfheartedly, chin digging into Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce took a deep breath, trying to settle the troubled feeling in his stomach that came over him whenever Tim and Damian’s extreme distaste for one another was brought to his attention 

“You’re more alike than you think.” Bruce spoke softly, but deliberately, paying close attention to the way Tim’s hands tightened in the fabric of the backpack he’d draped his arms over, along with his utter silence, like he wasn’t even breathing. 

It was something he should address. Something he should have spoken to Tim about a long time ago, no doubt.

“I’m...I’m sorry that Damian is so...abrasive sometimes. I wish the two of you got along better, but-“ Tim’s entire body was tense, like he was carrying a mannequin across his back, like he was waiting to be scolded and bracing himself for it.

“I want you to know that...I know it’s not your fault Tim. I know you tried to make him feel welcome when he first arrived, and he did nothing but antagonize and even - try to hurt you. I know he’s only marginally better now, and that it’s hard to give him any more chances when he talks to you the way he does.”

Bruce sighed, trying to think of the right way to wrap this all back around to what he was trying to get at.

“He is getting better. And he’ll continue to get better. I’m working on it, and so is Dick...Damian is...” Bruce didn’t want to make this statement a defense of his youngest son’s behavior, but he didn’t want to completely lambast him either. 

“Damian is working through a lot of deeply ingrained behaviors. He’s a good kid at heart. But I don’t want you to think I don’t see what goes on, or that I don’t care, or that I expect you to just put up with all of it. 

“We are working on it.”

Tim was quiet, but the stiff tension had slowly seeped out of his limbs and Bruce heard him swallow, before he sniffled and adjusted his weight, pulling himself up a little, digging his chin into Bruce’s shoulder again.

“Thank you.”

The words were soft, but sincere and Bruce felt mildly amazed that all of it had come out as miraculously well as it had. He hoped, dearly that one day his two youngest sons would get along like normal siblings. Maybe they would bicker, maybe they would never see how much they had in common, but he hoped that someday they wouldn’t tense every time the other walked into the room.

There was more Bruce wanted to tell him. More he’d wanted to say since he first spoke to him over the phone nearly a week before.

“I...” He tried to word it very carefully, not to put pressure where none was meant, to just be clear and straight forward. “I would like it if you spent more time at the manor. I like having your around Tim. Not just as Red Robin, but as you.”

Bruce could see his hands in his peripheral vision, fiddling with the zipper on the top of Bruce’s pack.

“I’ll...I’ll try.” The words were equally quiet as before, and it wasn’t exactly what Bruce wanted to hear, but it was enough. He would take it.

  
  


*

They lapsed into silence for some time, as a very light rain began to patter down around them. Tim had gone nearly limp and his breathing so even Bruce was fairly certain he was falling asleep. The large log they had traversed over on the way up was in sight and Bruce jostled him slightly. 

“Tim.”

“Hm?” He answered groggily, raising a hand over Bruce’s shoulder to wipe at his eyes.

“You should probably hold on.”

“What?”

He adjusted his grip on Tim’s legs, shifting his weight higher up his spine and picked up his speed.

“Bruce,” He hit a jog, “Bruce what are you doing?”

Tim’s arms snaked further around his shoulders, his knees clenched around his sides, _“Bruce!”_

“Hold on!” He reached a full sprint and Tim’s arm’s wrapped so tightly around his throat it nearly cut off his air supply as he leapt and spun, calculating the momentum carefully with the added weight to both his front and back, clearing the log by a decent margin, all the while Tim screaming, _“What are you DOING?!”_

He landed with both feet at the same time, but miscalculated the distribution of weight very slightly, along with the addition of the wet ground, and one of his feet slid sideways, jolting them both before Bruce regained solid balance. Tim was shaking, to an extent that Bruce was initially alarmed until he lifted his face from where he’d pressed it into the back of Bruce’s coat and wheezed with laughter.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” But he was laughing still, tugging up the side of Bruce’s mouth, right up until the laughs transformed into coughs, right on the back of his neck.

Tim dropped his head, pressed his forehead to the highest notch of Bruce’s spine and coughing with an awful honking noise that had Bruce quickly kneeling down and letting him slide back to the ground. He pressed his face into the crook of his elbow and Bruce dropped his backpack to the ground and put a steadying hand on his shoulder, looking around but finding nowhere to sit this time.

“I’m ok.” He wheezed, other hand pressed to his chest, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“You started it.” Bruce frowned, but breathed a little easier when Tim’s choked gasping finally calmed. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking-“

“No way. That was amazing. Dick would be so jealous.” Bruce huffed a breath through his nose, eyebrows raised in mild disbelief. Tim coughed one more time into his sleeve and shook his head.

“Really, I’m fine.” He raised an eyebrow and Tim gave him an unimpressed look. “I am, I can walk the rest of the way.” Bruce wanted to fight him on it, but more because of his own desires than any real concern for the strain of it. Bruce had missed the ages of most of his children when they would have readily accepted piggy back rides. 

But they were nearly back to the car and it had warmed up some since they’d started the hike.

“Alright.”

When the Audi came into view, there were still no other vehicles in sight, but they did pass one couple on the trail, who smiled and waved at the two of them. Bruce and Tim returned the gesture and Bruce rolled his eyes at Tim for laughing when in the distance they could just hear, _“Was that Bruce Wayne?”_ Before they vanished from sight.

Bruce dug his keys out of his coat pocket and unlocked the car, but stopped Tim before he could dump his backpack in the back seat.

“Put it in the front, and just wait outside for a minute.” Tim gave him a quizzical look but complied without question.

Bruce opened the hatch to the back and shuffled Alfred’s cooking around until he was holding the plastic bin with the remaining thermos’s and pile of blankets stacked on top. Then he pressed a button on the ceiling and watched the seats fold down until they lay flush with the floor of the trunk. Then piled everything back inside the vehicle and spread out one of the blankets Alfred had packed him, climbing into the back.

He opened the built in BluRay player on the ceiling, rolled up his coat like a pillow, and set it to the side.

“Alright Tim, you can come back now.” He called out, waiting until Tim’s questioning gaze swung around the end of the car only to look more confused.

“What is this?” Carefully, he climbed in after Bruce, sitting on his knees. Bruce reached back and closed the hatch, safely enclosing them from the chill of the outdoors, and then he turned back to Tim.

“We have snacks, and hot drinks, you have your cold medicine and tissues, there’s blankets, and a tv.” He gestured to the screen, open on the ceiling. Tim looked at it and back to Bruce, eyes wide.

“I’m going to make time to come back out here with you. We can plan it before the end of the day. But in the meantime, we can still call it a day out, this way.”

Tim blinked at him, and then around the inside of the car, he was quiet for a long time. Long enough that Bruce began to feel self conscious, maybe it was stupid, really who wanted to lay in the back of a car to watch a movie on a tiny screen when they were sick?

But then he sniffed, and wiped his nose and when he spoke his voice was reedy and wet, “I know I didn’t say it before but, I love you too.”

Bruce let out a breath, feeling his chest tighten so severely it almost hurt. He reached out an arm and snagged Tim around the shoulders, dragging him in and planting a kiss to his temple. 

“Come on, there’s a few choices for a movie and I don’t even know what all Alfred packed.”

They settled back in the car, rucking up their coats and another blanket as pillows against the back hatch. Then Bruce scanned through the movies available on the SD card in the BluRay.

“Our options are, _Monsters Inc., Ratatouille, Legally Blonde_ \- Who’s SD is this?”

Tim laughed, “I think it’s Steph’s actually.”

“When was she even- nevermind, I don’t want to know. We also have _The Fast and The Furious,_ and... _Iron Man II.”_ tim hummed consideringly, sitting cross legged with a blanket over his legs. (Bruce found a total of four, folded in the pile Alfred had left.)

“I could go for _Ratatouille.”_

“Hn. Dick really will be jealous.” Tim snorted a laugh and took the thermos Bruce handed him, opening the top and sniffing at what Bruce determined was a mild, spearmint tea. He took a small sip and then hoisted himself to his knees and shuffled toward the front seat, digging through his backpack while Bruce parsed out the snacks. 

The click of the camera shutter made him look up in surprise, only to find Tim sitting there, hesitant smile on his face as he looked at Bruce. “Just, documenting.” 

Bruce smiled as Tim moved back toward the back of the vehicle, camera still in his hands. 

“What, are you planning on more?” Tim shrugged. 

“You never know, always be prepared and all that.” Then he sniffed and pulled out another pack of tissues and popped a cough drop in his mouth. He looked down at his camera for a moment.

“I’m glad you listened to Stephanie.” Bruce looked over again, just in time to catch the flush that rose in Tim’s face. “Not that I’m saying you , like - _needed_ therapy, that’s not what I mean, I’m just glad that we got to come out here and-“

“It’s ok Tim. I know what you meant, I’m...glad I did too.” Tim watched him, camera settled in his folded legs.

“...So it’s, um...it’s going well?”

Bruce settle his back against the hatch and considered. “It’s...” He didn’t know what he wanted to say. Or how to fit so much meaning into something as small as words.

_But he needed to try._

Bruce swallowed, then shifted around until he was reclined against their coats and bundled blankets and reached an arm out, motioning to Tim. He set his camera to the side and somewhat cautiously settled next to him, allowing Bruce to fold an arm around his shoulders and pull him close. “Yes. It’s not easy...a lot of the time I feel very stupid.” Tim huffed a stifled laugh and leaned his head down to rest on his shoulder.

“You’re not stupid.”

“Hn...sometimes I am.”

“...Well...everyone is _sometimes.”_ Bruce closed his eyes, trying to suppress a smile.

“I’m trying to be less stupid though.” Tim shifted next to him and lay his head a little more firmly against his shoulder.

“And it’s helping? I mean I know it’s...pretty early, but, you think it is?” Tim swallowed, going quiet. Bruce squeezed his shoulders gently.

“...I think so.” He made a great effort for a moment to think of the right words, of how much he should even tell Tim. “You’re right, it’s still early, but...I’m determined, and I’m told that helps.”

He was also told that it wouldn’t mean he could solve every problem he had with sheer force of will...but it did help.

Tim seemed to hesitate, going very still. Bruce could tell he wanted to say more.

“So...” He suddenly sat up, turning to Bruce with a very serious, very determined face. Then he swallowed, and it shifted clearly back into the nervous category. Bruce sat up slowly to meet him.

“Yes?”

“There’s just something I’ve been wanting to tell you...but I haven’t really known how to bring it up and...” He rubbed at the back of his neck, shifting his hat forward.

“I’m listening.”

“It’s just...I know I kind of...helped Stephanie get a private meeting with you and I know you _know,_ you just haven’t said anything. I just don’t want you to think it’s because I think you’re...broken or whatever Stephanie actually said to you, since she wouldn’t tell me. I just know it didn’t exactly go well, and I should have talked to you myself I just...didn’t know what to say and...” He looked up at Bruce, meeting his eyes. 

“I know how much being Batman has effected you. You help so many people, and it’s inevitable, how could it not be? I only thought maybe- maybe it would help you be...happier. That’s the only reason. I just...wanted you to know.”

Bruce stared at his son for a long moment, feeling like someone just punched him in the chest. He swallowed.

“Tim.” But his voice came out like gravel and Tim still looked nervous. Bruce leaned forward, reaching out and dragging his son into another hug. “Thank you.” And then after another long pause, after Tim finally raised his own arms and returned the embrace, “I love you.”

Tim gave a half laugh, half sniffle, “You already told me that.”

“I know. I just thought it bore repeating.”

“Well, I love you too then.” He sniffled hard again, and whether it was from his cold or the sudden upswing in emotional conversations Bruce hit his point of no return with this illness. He cupped the back of Tim’s head briefly, before pulling back.

There was an emergency kit stashed in each of his vehicles with various specific supplies, all including a bottle of oral antibiotics. This one was tucked in the pocket of the back passenger side door and Bruce quickly retrieved it. When he handed him the dose of antibiotics Tim frowned but Bruce raised his eyebrows in return.

“Antibiotics are standard procedure during any illness when you don’t have a spleen. You came out here when you shouldn’t have. Now take your damn meds.”

Tim coughed out a laugh and finally took the pills, swallowing them in one go. It began to rain in earnest outside and Bruce was thankful they had already made it back to the car, and he was even more thankful when they settled back to officially watch the movie. 

The noise of the rain on the roof was loud enough it nearly drowned out the sound but Bruce didn’t much care. It put Tim to sleep in minutes.

And so Bruce laid there, stretched out in the back of his Audi SQ5 with a blanket over his legs, leaned against a pile of coats and blanket, with his son snoring softly next to him, head resting on his arm. 

Bruce was very...he was very thankful for this. For all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. An incredibly shmoopy chapter. I was surprised how much fluff came about in Tim’s chapter. But it happened lol. I do love Damian, which I think is made apparent by the pervious chapter, but he really does need to give Tim a break lol.
> 
> Next up is Cass!
> 
> Chapter title, once again, from Free by Mother Mother.


	4. Let My Love Inside Go Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce’s plans are derailed by Stephanie Brown once again. He adjusts, and spends an evening in with Cass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for FLUFF and FEELINGS.

Initially, Bruce planned to focus on Dick next. It was difficult at first to choose between him and Cass, even while knowing that neither of them would be left out.

Both Dick and Cass would understand the focus Bruce initially put on Damian and Tim, if they even realized it. Bruce didn’t doubt that they would, eventually, but perhaps not yet. They both lived relatively independent lives. Dick wasn’t even stationed in Gotham anymore.

The main difference came down to: Cass didn’t just have Bruce. All of them relied on him as a father figure, but Cass had Barbara too, as someone she considered a mother to her. Beyond that Cass had an understanding of Bruce that the others didn’t, not even Dick.

And of course, Dick had been angry with him more recently than Cass. 

He had already been researching places to go with him. While he didn’t think it would be hard, Dick enjoyed most things, Bruce still wanted to make sure he put thought into it.

But then of course, Stephanie Brown happened.

Bruce was working at his desk at WE, reading through paperwork so dry he could barely keep his eyes open, when there was a soft knock on his door before it cracked open. Bruce looked up, ready for _any_ possible distraction that could take him away from the agony of this reading.

That is, until he saw the curly blonde hair that slowly peaked around his door, followed by widely cautious blue eyes and a slim hand curling around the edge. She stopped, head just visible.

“Hey.” Bruce stared at her for a moment before sitting back in his chair and letting out a sigh while she slipped inside the rest of the way and closed the door behind her. He wondered what kind of disaster this was about to be.

“Promise I’m not here to yell at you this time.” She gave a crooked sort of half smile and Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“I believe you told me something similar last time.” She stopped again, halfway to the chair in front of his desk, going very still.

“Was that, um, a joke?” Bruce huffed out a breath and nodded, finally reaching out a hand and motioning her forward.

“Yes, come in, sit down. What can I help you with?”

She was dressed more casually this time, Bruce observed, light jeans and a sweater with a wool coat, hair down. She walked up slowly and took a seat with more caution than Bruce expected. Then she clamped her hands between her knees and stared at him.

“So.” She swallowed and looked down at her clasped hands, lips thinned. Bruce couldn’t tell if she was nervous or upset.

“Yes?” He prompted, leaning heavily onto an armrest.

Stephanie frowned and finally let out a heavy sigh and slumped back in her chair.

“So, Tim told me about your hike.” Bruce raised an eyebrow, resting his chin in his hand.

“And I heard about Damian’s art lesson.” She tapped her nails against the exposed metal of the armrests and stared at him like he was supposed to know how to respond to that.

“And...?” Her nose scrunched up for a moment, an expression that was sharply frustrated if Bruce had to guess.

“And when’s Cass?”

“What do you-“

“Look.” She leaned forward again, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin on two curled fists, staring at the papers scattered over the glass top of his desk. “You just - you need to pay attention to her.”

Bruce frowned, feeling mildly offended. “I do pay attention to her.” It didn’t improve when Stephanie rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, just-“ Her cheeks flushed and Bruce wondered, a little taken off guard, if she was upset, but in a way that he wasn’t entirely understanding. “She’s doing this- I’m worried about her, ok?”

Bruce frowned harder, eyebrows drawing down. “What do you mean?”

“I think she’s starting one of her... _things._ Where she like, starts suddenly feeling like a terrible person that doesn’t deserve nice stuff? Like, it’s starting, and it’s not that bad yet, but I can tell.”

Bruce blinked in confusion, thinking back to the last time he’d seen Cass, just the day before on patrol, when she’d grinned and flicked one of his bat ears before diving off the side of a building. 

He wanted to say she was mistaken. Cass was fine, clearly. But other things came to mind.

________

_It’s good that Cass is so well adjusted, considering...everything you’ve told me. It’s amazing really. But...” Dr. Xie looked pensive for a moment, tapping her fingers on her notebook and looking to the side in thought._

_Bruce leaned forward, nervous suddenly for some reason. “But?” She took a deep breath and titled her head to the side._

_“Well. I would caution you from thinking that she is always fine.”_

_“I never said-“ She put up her hands and closed her eyes a moment, squinting them shut with a tight lipped, almost smile. It was an odd expression that Bruce never really knew how to interpret but it did the trick of getting him to stop for a moment._

_“No, no, I know. You know she has trauma that is not totally resolved. I’m having trouble describing what I mean to say.” She tilted her head to the side, mouth twisting in frustration._

_“Children who have largely take care of themselves, and especially when they have dealt with harrowing experiences on their own, even when they are in a better situation and willingly relying on the adult in their lives? That tend to be good at..._ being ok. _Even when they aren’t._

_“I know you pay attention, but just...just remember, you are not always aware of everything. No one is. You may need to pay more attention than you think, to notice when a problem is arising._

________

The words had felt rather foreboding to Bruce, and he’d wondered how many time he’d possibly missed something before. Had Cass needed him in the past when he hadn’t noticed? And then she had just...gone on without him? Maybe she had relied on Barbara...probably, but the idea that he hadn’t even _seen_ was...difficult to swallow.

And so, he didn’t dismiss Stephanie. Which he was - also working on, anyway.

“What makes you say that?”

Stephanie stared at him, brows low, and tucked her feet up in the chair so her chin rested between her knees and wrapped both hands around the metal armrests, clicking her nails against the chrome. The pose reminded him very much of Cass and he wondered briefly if either of them had picked it up from the other.

“She’s been...on a kind of stint lately of like...lack of self care.”

Bruce lifted his head from his hand, concerned.

“It’s not - it’s not that bad, she’s not like, avoiding eating or anything, but on good days Cass asks me to do her hair and paint her nails and pick out clothes. And on bad days she’ll sleep on the floor without blankets because she thinks she doesn’t deserve the little comforts, you know?” She looked up at him, the bottom half of her face hidden behind her knees, her scrunched up eyebrows standing out above them.

Bruce did remember that...happening before. He hadn’t thought it had in a long time at least but...how would he really know?

“And it’s not _bad_ right now. But I asked her if she wanted me to braid her hair the other day and she said no. And then I asked if I could paint her nails and she said no. And I asked if she wanted to watch a movie and she said she needed to do research for a case and she _hates_ research. And last time I went in her room at the manor all her fluffy blankets and stuff were folded and in the trunk at the foot of her bed and they never are.”

“Unless she’s denying herself.” Bruce finished, a heavy weight settling in his chest. Stephanie nodded and suddenly dropped her feet to the floor, sitting up straight again. 

“Cass isn’t some magical unicorn child who never needs help, just because she understands you. She’s not miraculously well adjusted and she’s just like the boys that think they don’t matter as much as the others and so she’ll suffer in silence but I know that if you come to her she’ll listen. Or she’ll at least do the thing you ask her to-“

“Stephanie.” Bruce set his hands on the desk, giving her a steady look. “You don’t have to convince me. If you say that’s what’s going on, I believe you.”

Stephanie swallowed, face going red again before she closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed her face.

“Ok, yeah, I’m sorry I’m just being a jerk. You’re doing - great, with everybody, I don’t know why I’m-” She ran a hand though her hair, pulling her curls into frizzy, separated strands. “I’d go to Babs but-” She made a face, “But sometimes when it’s you, I don’t know, I think she thinks you understand her better or something.”

Bruce considered her for a moment, frowning to himself at the entire situation, Stephanie’s and Cass’s both.

“You’re not being a jerk. You’re concerned about your friend. It’s good that you told me.” She looked up at him then, making eye contact and letting her shoulders relax.

“I’m not ignoring Cass, either, if that’s what you think. I’ve been wanting to do something with her as well, I just haven’t had an exact idea what yet...did you have something in mind?”

Stephanie stared at him and slowly narrowed her eyes. “I might.” Bruce blinked back, bewildered.

“Alright.”

  
  


*

  
  


It turned out Stephanie had a _lot_ of ideas. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he knew the two were close.

Upon _hearing_ her ideas Bruce had understood her apparent skepticism. But they _were_ good ideas. Bruce had spent hours demonstrating how poor his art skills were with Damian, and he could definitely do this for Cass.

And so once again he had accepted a list from Stephanie Brown via text message. More than one, actually.

 _Stephanie:_  
_Nail polish - various colors - she likes pastels and sparkles (also black)_  
_Nail polish remover (pure acetone is best)_  
_Cotton balls_  
_Fingernail clippers_  
_Clear top coat (don’t skip this!!!)_  
_Some nail files_  
_(On the polish, make sure you don’t get the light cure kind, it will never dry)_  
_Hair ties - fun ones - bright colors, sparkles, etc._  
_Barrettes - same rules_  
_Comb_

 _Snacks:_  
_Popcorn  
_ _Various candy but not old people candy, get sour gummies and chocolate, nothing expensive or fancy - LITERAL JUNK FOOD  
_ _Potato chips_  
_Cheese puffs_  
_Soda_

 _Movies:_  
_Cass likes three kinds of movies best:_  
_Romcoms  
_ _Literal silent films_  
_The worst action movies you’ve ever seen_

 _I recommend:_  
_Legally Blonde_  
_Leap Year_  
_Just Like Heaven_  
_13 Going on 30_  
_Fast and The Furious (doesn’t matter which one, there’s like nine)_  
_The transporter (one or two)_  
_Pacific Rim_

_And for once, you probably have a better grasp on silent films than me. I only know the ones I’ve watched with her already._

When he had asked Stephanie where exactly he would find all of these things she had given him the most world weary look he’d ever seen and dropped her head to the back of her chair.

_“The grocery store Bruce.”_

And so Bruce had ventured out, in the middle of a Thursday afternoon, to the nearest one. He’d spent the better part of an hour hunting through aisles and wondering if Stephanie had sent him on a wild goose chase on purpose or if he was really this out of touch with the life of the average person. 

Turned out it was the latter, when a teenage boy had finally asked him if he needed help finding anything after he’d walked up and down the same aisle three times. The kid had clearly recognized him, and seemed to be avoiding his notice on purpose until he couldn’t stand it any longer.

He had simply shown him the list in the end, and the boy had taken him from aisle to aisle, pointing out each item one at a time.

“It’s for my daughter.” He told the checker later, putting on his best Brucie Wayne smile for the middle aged woman who gave him a soft look in return.

Next he’d been sent a series of YouTube tutorials that he’d spent much longer on than he would have anticipated. Bruce had never thought the lives of teenage girls involved such a specialized skillset but he was _Batman_ and he _would_ learn how to waterfall braid. 

Stephanie promised she could get Cass home on Friday night, and insisted they not tell her the plan. Bruce was reluctant at first, considering the initial reaction from Damian to being misled - but Cass was very different, and in the end he’d acquiesced to her expertise.

 _“I’m telling you she’ll just find a reason not to come. She’s been patrolling crazy long hours, she skipped her_ dance _class Bruce.”_

And so, they planned an ambush.

  
  


*

  
  


Bruce enlisted Alfred the day of, who seemed mildly baffled but supportive, and affable to the request. Except for the popcorn.

“Master Bruce,” The butler gave him a long suffering look, “You do not make popcorn in _advance.”_

Everything else was set up. He’d brought home a laptop from work that he normally used for meetings, had downloaded every movie Stephanie had suggested plus a few silent films. The candy was arranged near the end of the bed with the laptop, the chips next to that, all on a wooden tray provided by Alfred. He’d left the hair ties, barrettes, comb and nail polish on another, and laid out the fluffy robe Tim had gifted her the year previous.

And then he waited.

Bruce himself had dressed in loose fitting sweats, a t-shirt, and socks. He continually checked his phone for messages from Stephanie, who had planned to do a workout with Cass at the clocktower and had insisted she could be relied upon to get Cass home that evening and back to her room. Bruce didn’t ask how, finally resigning himself to the fact that she knew plenty of things he wasn’t privy to after he’d watched his fourth video on hair braiding. 

It was just after five pm that he got the text.

 _Stephanie:_  
_ETA is any minute. Just FYI she might be kinda grumpy_

Bruce frowned.

 _Bruce:_  
_Why would she be grumpy?_

 _Stephanie:_  
_Because I told her if she didn’t go home and take a shower and a nap before patrol I was going to tattle on her._

_..._

_Which I guess I just did._

Bruce let out a soft sigh, worry snaking up his spine. When Cass had first become Batgirl she had struggled with these things. With being someone outside the mask, living a regular life. Feeling like she didn’t deserve good things, because she had done certain bad ones.

Bruce hadn’t helped. He may have even made things worse. It had not been...a good time in his life. He wasn’t exactly balanced and he had seen in Cassandra what he held in himself, and instead of steering her in a more healthy direction, he’d fostered every obsession, thinking that it was what he had needed too. Nothing but the Mission.

He didn’t want that for her now.

 _Bruce:_  
_Thank you. I’m waiting_

It wasn’t five minutes later that the door opened with a soft click. It paused an inch or so in and Bruce knew she could already tell someone was in the room. Then the door swung open all the way, pushed and released carefully to leave it standing open but not ricocheting off the wall. Cassandra stood in the doorway, hair pulled up in a short ponytail, gym bag slung over her shoulder, wearing work out gear and clearly exhausted. She stared at him in confusion for all of a split second, her eyes darting over his body, where he sat criss-cross on her bed surrounded by junk food, nail polish, and hair clips.

Then she rolled her eyes and gave an irritated growl, tossing her gym bag to the floor with more force than necessary. _“Stephanie.”_ She hissed. Bruce couldn’t stop the twitch of his lip.

“Yes. Stephanie.”

Cass crossed her arms over her chest, shoulders hunched. “What is this?” She jutted her chin, gesturing to the rest of the bed as she finally stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind her.

“I...have an evening planned. For the two of us.” Cass narrowed her eyes, and watched them dart over the supplies he’d laid out again, gaze lingering briefly on the rob. She huffed a breath, slightly less annoyed but still clearly not on board. 

“I have a case. Can’t stay.” If it were a year ago it probably would have hurt his feelings, and he would have easily let her out of it, slinking away to lick his wounds. But this was Cass, and Bruce was learning, and it was marginally what he expected. It’s what Bruce would have done, on a bad day, and so he didn’t let it slide.

“No, you don’t.” She looked fleetingly confused.

“Yes.” Bruce shook his head.

“No, not tonight.” Cass stepped forward.

“Yes, tonight.” She uncrossed her arms and made a y with each hand, palms up. _Now._

Bruce tapped his index and middle finger to his thumb in quick succession. _No._ Then he motioned her closer to the bed. She gave him a flat look but reluctantly shuffled forward until she stood just out of his reach, eye level with where he sat on the mattress.

“I am ordering you, as Batman, to take the night off.” She was clearly more irritated by this, scowl becoming even more pronounced.

“You sound like Stephanie. I do not need _night off.”_ She held her hands palm up and then quickly turned them over, flicking them out to the side. _Do not want._

Bruce leveled her with a firm stare. “Maybe not, but I think it would be good for you.” He watched her face closely, the way she seemed to lean away from him, and leaned forward to match her. “And I’d really like to spend the time with you.”

This, he knew, would be the blow she couldn’t perry.

Because she knew instantly he was being honest, and she wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings, knowing it wasn’t just for her, but for him too. There was a clear change in her face, her jaw twitched once, her eyebrows smoothed out and her eyes narrowed in concern, darting over him in a new search for different information. He did his best to project calm, and he could see her relax, a tension in her muscles releasing when she found no evidence of pain of any kind.

Bruce’s heart hurt though, just a little, for how much she cared.

She released a very soft breath and looked away from him, clearly warring with herself. She knew this was partially to make her rest, and she didn’t want to, and would balk at being forced or manipulated into it. But she also knew that Bruce honestly wanted her to stay, and be with him.

“I’m taking the night off too.” He added, as a final push, and watched her last lingering resolve fade.

“Ok.” She spoke softly, glancing up to make eye contact, shoulders slumping because he was sure, to her, it felt at least a little like defeat. He reached a hand out, a clear motion she would understand, and waited for her to step into his reach, where he clasped her wrist gently and squeezed.

Cass pulled her hand away, looking something close to uncomfortable and possibly a little torn and it- it surprised Bruce, stirring up the concern that had begun to fade when she had agreed to stay in. It was too early then, to offer this, he would have to work for it. She wasn’t just pushing because she didn’t know how to stop.

After an awkward beat he turned to the laptop and pulled it over, opening the screen, where it displayed multiple movie covers and spun it toward her. “We’re going to watch a movie. I want you to pick one, then go take a shower. I’ll make popcorn in the meantime and when you’re done in the shower I can paint your nails.”

Something stuttered across her face, like she was torn between being amused and entirely displeased. She glanced at the laptop and pointed to a movie cover at random, clearly not taking even a moment to consider the titles or the images associated with them. Bruce tried not to frown or telegraph any of his concerns.

While Cass’s ability to interpret Bruce’s feelings and intentions was usually a clear advantage it did sometimes present a challenge. Anytime she was exhibiting concerning behavior and didn’t want to be noticed, for instance. To play this successfully he would have to feign ignorance until just the right moment. She would need to think this was all simply because Stephanie thought she was overexerting herself. That wasn’t easy with Cass.

“Thank you, now go shower and I’ll make popcorn.” He watched her grab the first pair of pajamas she saw out of her dresser and march into the bathroom like it was a mission.

Bruce took a deep breath, trying to release the slowly building concern in his lungs and took a moment to text Stephanie one more time, feeling more and more like an idiot for doubting her even for an instant.

 _Bruce:_  
_She’s staying in._

The reply didn’t come until the popcorn was on the stove, because that was the only kind that Alfred would buy, and Bruce, while claiming to make it, was really just standing by while Alfred did the honors. The little dot dot dot indicating the text window was open sat there for an extended period so that when the response finally came in he wondered how many different messages she wrote out before sending it.

 _Stephanie:_  
👍🏻 

He imagined at least one of them had been _Now just don’t screw it up._ Because that’s what he’d been telling himself since he left her room.

Alfred handed off the large popcorn bowl for movie night with an encouraging nod and Bruce took it back to her room, where the door was left slightly ajar. He was only gone for maybe ten minutes, if that. Alfred had already had all the supplies ready when he came down, and Bruce would have expected Cass to still be in the shower on a normal day but she wasn’t. 

He found her sitting on the opposite edge of her bed from the door, gazing out the window with a placid expression he didn’t like. But she was wearing the robe, at least, which he took as a good sign. 

Bruce gave a soft knock to the door frame as he stepped back inside and she turned to him, wet hair tucked behind her ears and looking just slightly less exhausted. He left the door just touching the jam behind him and came to set the bowl next to the laptop where he started the movie with a few clicks and slid it so the screen angled toward them. Then he motioned to the pile of nail colors.

“Pick one.” Her eyes quickly scanned the options and she pointed to the color closest to her, a light yellow with glitter in it. She didn’t care, he could tell, it was just like the choice of the movie. She at least didn’t seem so angry, but still appeared to only be passively participating - going along with things but refusing to enjoy them. 

Bruce picked up the bottle of polish and set it to the side, then took the little bag of cotton balls and the acetone and held his left hand out for hers. She placed her much smaller one in his palm and he went about methodically rubbing away the last residue of a black polish. 

“Did Stephanie paint them for you last?” He glanced up to her face to see her watching him, eyes half lidded and distracted.

“M.” She gave a curt nod and glanced at the laptop screen when a loud squeal of tires came over the speakers but didn’t seem interested. 

For the first time in a while, Bruce wasn’t really sure how to approach Cass about something.

While he had anticipated the initial begrudging reaction, she was normally something of an open book to him. And he knew she took particular delight in him doing things that seemed out of his wheelhouse. Painting her nails would certainly qualify.

Now she just seemed vaguely morose and he began to question where this was all coming from after all. With the nail polish removed, he inspected her nails. She always kept them short, so there was no need to clip them. Then he picked up the bottle she had chosen, and unscrewed the top, holding out his left hand for hers once more and keeping the bottle curled to his palm with his index finger. 

She settled her hand in his again, and Bruce started. 

He had briefly practiced with the brush on printer paper, just to get the feel for the size and how it spread. It did require some skill but his experience working with robotics on occasion and under microscopes meant it didn’t take much practice for him. A singular instructional video was enough, and he placed a small dot of polish at the crown of her index finger and made a single sweeping motion down each side of the nail. 

He marveled briefly at how tiny her hands were, cupped in his. Thick callouses worn onto her fingertips and scars across her knuckles. So small, but so strong. 

That was his Cass. 

Bruce watched her face carefully as he moved from one nail to the next, seeing the way her eyes went a little unfocused, not tracking his motions, but simply staring. She was clearly lost in thought and the placid expression slipped, her eyebrows drawing together in concentration. Bruce considered his words carefully. 

He didn’t want to come out of the gate with accusations, he didn’t even particularly want to come across as worried yet, not until he understood exactly what was going through her mind. 

If she felt misread she wouldn’t always push to be be understood, instead she would retreat entirely and chasing her away was the last thing he wanted. Especially because with Cass it could be quite literal, and he wouldn’t be able to find her for days.

But if he simply presented the facts, neutral observations, she might feel prompted to explain.

“Stephanie told me you’ve been busy a lot.” She flicked her eyes up to meet his, the wrinkle between her brows staying put but now asking, _so?_

 _Too vague..._ Bruce thought, pursing his lips and turning her hand over in order to paint her thumbnail. “She thinks you might be avoiding her.” 

That made her blink, the distracted quality of her expression fading with each one, chasing a frown. “No.” She said simply, simultaneously signing the word with her right hand just before Bruce finished with her left. He guided it carefully to her knee to dry. 

“...She seems to think so.” He gestured for her right hand and she gave it to him, with just the slightest hesitation, not speaking as she watched him continue, finally holding up her left to inspect his work.

“You...are good.” She gave him a single raised eyebrow and Bruce hummed.

“Thank YouTube.” There was an amused spark to her eyes and so he added, “I had less luck with the hair tutorials.”

This brought the tiniest smile, followed by a shift in her posture. She lifted her legs from their criss-crossed position and tucked them up in front of her, chin hiding behind her knees. “She also told me you’ve missed some dance classes recently.”

She blinked in surprise of this one, frowning. She curled just a little tighter, hiding everything but her eyes.

“I’m not mad Cass, the classes are for fun, they’re yours. You can drop them or pick up new ones anytime you want.” She looked at him carefully, handing back her left hand when he finished with the right. He tested the tackiness of the polish on her pinky nail and carefully blew on the rest of them when she untucked her chin and rested it on the top of her right knee. 

“She also told me....” He started carefully, afraid it would come across as too pushy, too direct, even when that was usually his tactic with her. “She said you haven’t been...that you’ve been avoiding...nice things.”

He spoke slowly, tried to put his care into his voice. She went tense and her mouth and eyebrows turned down to match.

“I’m not. I’m fine.” The sharp assertion made him pause, taking a deep breath while he slowly worked through each nail. Bruce didn’t speak for a long time, waiting. Sometimes that was all it took, with any of his kids. 

Just give them enough time, and the problem would come spilling out.

He made it all the way back to her thumb, observing carefully the stiffness in her posture slowly bleeding away until she shook her head, swiveling her chin back and forth on her knee and looking frustrated. Her lips were pursed, eyebrows scrunched down.

“Not avoiding....” Her voice was soft, despite the harsh angles of her face and Bruce paused, holding her hand gently. 

“Ok. I believe you.” Or at least, he believed it was what she believed, “But I also believe Stephanie, and she says you won’t let her do this for you.” He tilted her hand up, holding her fingers just below the nails to showcase the polish. “Or this.” He reached up with his other hand and tugged on her hair. “And you’ve missed your dance classes.

“You like those things Cass. So what’s stopping you from doing them?”

He watched her take a deep breath, eyes focusing on something past his shoulders. 

“Just - bigger things. More important things. You don’t - you shouldn’t worry.” Her voice was soft still but strained.

Bruce shifted - he felt her words on a deep, personal level, thinking about the league as he methodically went about adding a clear coat to her left hand. He thought about Damian, and Cass, and Tim, and Dick and how they all did this sometimes. Had this shared idea that they were less important than the things they did and he hoped he hadn’t contributed to it. He really hoped, but he didn’t know. Had plenty of doubts. 

Bruce had made so many mistakes in raising these kids. Some different, some the same, over and over. It was difficult not to sink back into guilt over them, anytime a shared disfunction popped up in one of them.

_______

_“I’m afraid that I...do more harm than good, much of the time. I’m not-“ He struggled, for the thousandth, millionth, unccountable time for the right words that didn’t make him want to pull out his own tongue. “I think I’ve been a bad father, sometimes.” Admitting it was like carving a stone out of his heart. Something he believed undoubtedly to be true, but not anything he had ever spoken aloud._

_Dr. Xie leveled him with a perfectly calm expression._

_“Bruce. Struggling to know what to do, not knowing how to handle different situations, and then handling them poorly, that doesn’t make you a bad father or a bad person, or a bad anything. It just means you might need assistance. We all do from time to time. It’s nothing to do with your aptitude as much as it is learned skills.”_

_She sat up a little straighter, glancing at her notes._

_“You have a fair few disadvantages. Most children learn how to parent from their parents. You had a background with yours that was good, and then you were left without them. You were left in the care of a loving adult who became like a father figure to you, but was also in somewhat of the odd position of being your family’s butler, a position he resumed when you were older, putting him in a service role to a man who is, for all intents and purposes, his son. It’s...unusual._

_“I won’t say that it’s bad, but it may not have been the most conducive way to teach a young man how to parent._

_“But then there you were, suddenly in charge of a young boy, with his own parents, and no intention of accepting a new one. And so you filled a different sort of role for him, more of an older brother and mentor. But as he grew older it became apparent that while he couldn’t abandon the parents who raised him from birth, he still needed someone, someone more than an older brother. He needed a parent. So you shifted into that role, you became his second father.” Her expression shifted slowly as she spoke to one of sympathy._

_“And then you took in an older boy, who had lived on the streets and been mistreated...and you did most of this on your own, you had the help of Alfred, your own father figure, but no co-parent to fill the gaps you might leave behind. Because, make no mistake Bruce, all parents do._

_“The list goes on. What I’m saying is, while difficulties are no excuse not to try, you need to understand that the situation you are in, with any one of your children, is not a simple one. It seems perfectly reasonable to me that you might struggle to know how to handle things or what each of them might need. To make mistakes_

_“You are not a bad parent, you are learning to be a better one.”_

________

It was the longest she had spoken during any of his sessions, but he had recited it from memory nearly every time he’d felt like a complete moron when interacting with each of his kids in the last month and so many weeks.

He was learning, he would improve, he was trying.

He could make the difference now. Cass wasn’t good with words, sometimes she became frustrated with them, just like he did. But Bruce was learning their value, and he hoped he could use them to help her.

Bruce stopped painting her nails, he screwed the cap back on the clear polish and set it back on the tray and then he took both of her hands in his own, folding them carefully in his much larger grip. 

“Cass.” Bruce looked up, making direct eye contact where with any one of his sons he would let them look away. “I understand that, but you know that you are important too. Just as important as these things.” He squeezed her hands and she took a deep, slow breath before her eyes stuttered away, not hiding the bright sheen he could suddenly see in them.

“You need to take care of yourself Sweetheart. You deserve to have fun, and be happy, and relax.” Cass swallowed audibly, and the first tear spilled onto her cheek, hitting Bruce like a spike to the chest. He let out a painful little breath and released one of her hands to reach up and wipe it away.

“Don’t always deserve.” Cass whispered, tugging her remaining hand out of his grip. She jerked her shoulders and raised her hands, attempting a sign, but stopping when she realized she’d ruined some of her nails, yellow polish sticking down the sides of her fingers. She made a frustrated noise and Bruce shook his head.

“Yes, always.” He raised his right hand, index finger pointing up, arm bent at the elbow, and made a large circular motion. _Always._

Bruce watched as more tears welled in her eyes, spilling over in staccato beats, and he signed it again. _Always._

Her lip trembled and she let out a wavering breath. “It is hard.” She spoke in a tight whisper, and Bruce’s heart _ached_ for her. So much he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and pulling her into a hug.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He pressed the words into her still damp hair and held her there, until her choppy breaths evened out and she’d stopped sniffling. Then finally he pulled back.

“I’ll make it easier, give you a head start.” She blinked at him in question, eyes red and skin blotchy, and watched carefully as he reached around her and the laptop to the bowl of candy at the end of the bed. He shuffled things around until he carefully extracted a full size _Mr. Goodbar._ Chocolate and peanuts, a solid bet. He settled back and held it out to her.

“I want you to eat this.” She gave a tiny, tremulous smile.

“Nails.” She held up her hands, the left with intact polish and the right mostly ruined. 

“The first one’s dry by now. Eat it.” She gave a soft laugh and nodded, taking it from him after he unwrapped it and she could take a bite. 

“Now. I’m going to braid your hair and you’re going to suffer through it because I watched YouTube tutorials for forty minutes for this.” 

She giggled then, a slightly wet voice, this time covering her mouth, smearing chocolate on her nose. Bruce swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, seeing her instantly in his minds eye as a little girl, before he’d ever known her. When she should have had this, but didn’t. He reached out a hand again and swiped the chocolate off with his thumb.

Cass blinked in surprise for a moment before she smiled softly, wide, and real. She pressed her fingers just below her lips and lowered her hand. _Thank you._

Bruce scooted closer, leaning forward to plant a kiss on her forehead before he motioned for her to turn away from him to face the movie, which was now some thirty minutes in, with neither of them following the plot whatsoever. Bruce shifted to sit behind her so they could both see the screen and went about gently carding his fingers through it and using the plastic comb to part it neatly down the center. 

He decided on two simple French braids, they were easier than some of the other ones Stephanie had sent him, when he mildly suspected she was either testing his resolve or making fun of him. Either way he learned them. He had a few wigs in the cave for various disguises and they came in handy.

Bruce carefully divided her hair on one side into three sections, holding it in his fingers like he’d seen in the video’s, wondering, a little painfully, if this is what it would have been like had he had a daughter. If she had found him when she was still small. 

_It can be like this now,_ he told himself, winding her smooth dark hair under and over itself. He could sense the way her muscles relaxed as he worked, kept an eye on the chocolate bar, listening for the crinkle of the wrapper as she brought it to her mouth. 

He watched the movie sparingly, glancing at the screen periodically to see car chase after car chase, unsure in any way what the plot of this film was, or why Stephanie thought Cassandra would like it. But she watched, attentively, reaching for the popcorn with an aimless, grasping hand without looking away from the screen. He secured each braid with a sparkly blue hair tie complete with a tiny metallic butterfly. He tugged on the end of each one and she tore her attention away from the screen, bringing her hands up to feel at the slight bumps in her hair all the way down to the nape of her neck where it was tied off. 

Bruce reached over to the nightstand and picked up a small hand mirror.

“Go look, I think I did a decent job.” Cass gave him a tiny smile, head tilted just enough that he could see it, before she slipped off the bed and wrapped her robe more tightly around her waist, walking into her bathroom with the hand mirror. She rushed out a second later and went straight to her gym bag, where she dug out her cell phone and pressed it into his hands.

 _Picture,_ she signed and then spun around and sat primly on the edge of the bed, back straight and waiting. Bruce felt his own muscles relaxing, the small knot of worry in his stomach unraveling slowly as he pulled up her camera app and snapped a photo. As soon as she heard the shutter sound effect she spun back around and took it from him, looking avidly at the photo and quickly tapping away to another screen. 

He could see the ruined polish on her right hand when she was done, no doubt sending the picture to Stephanie, possibly Barbara, he tugged her hand back and went about fixing it. She wrinkled her nose now, at the smell of the acetone, but studied the sparkles in the yellow polish with much more interest, steadily working through the popcorn with her other hand while multiple explosions went off on screen. 

He painted her toenails next, tickling a finger up the side of her foot when she wouldn’t stop wiggling her toes. She glared at him but he was momentarily distracted by the movie, unable to stop watching a particularly outrageous scene.

“That is absolutely preposterous.” Bruce said as he watched a car flip midair after driving off the end of a half raised draw bridge. There was a bomb on the bottom that was neatly knocked off by the hook of a crane swinging over the gap.

Cass huffed and lifted a foot to kick him lightly with her heel.

“You fight aliens.” Bruce paused, nail brush hovering over her big toe.

“That’s...different.” She smirked and gave an exaggerated shrug. 

_If you say so._ “Maybe he’s alien.” Bruce looked at the screen again and narrowed his eyes.

“That would make this more interesting.” She snickered, a deep breathy noise from her chest that Bruce didn’t hear very often. He looked up with a smile and she suddenly flopped herself backward over the mattress, reaching over her head for another candy bar. 

When she sat back up she thrust it just in front of his nose, making him go cross eyed before he looked up at her.

“You too,” She said, “have fun.” Bruce nearly protested, holding her right foot in one hand and the nail polish in the other but stopped himself. Instead, he dutifully added the last brush stroke to her big toe and dropped her ankle, setting the polish to the side and taking the candy.

“This really isn’t sanitary.” He said as he unwrapped it, “Who knows where your feet have been.” She scoffed and struck out the newly painted foot, wiggling her toes in his face so he was forced to lean back. He slapped it away, wondering what it was about Cass that made her want to shove her feet in his face constantly.

Unfortunately, as things had relaxed, and the tone of the room had settled Bruce had let his guard down. He wasn’t paying close enough attention and her foot swung right into the nail polish, knocking over several bottles including the one he’d just sat down, that was still open. She hit it with enough force to fling it cleanly off the tray, bouncing end over end across the bedspread, leaving a trail of gooey yellow sparkles in its wake. 

Cass sucked in a breath and sprung up at the same time as Bruce, staring at the mess with wide eyes. 

“Your fault.” She said. Bruce gave her a look but didn’t argue.

“It’s just nail polish.” He grabbed a chunk of napkins stacked next to the junk food and tried to wipe away the largest of the streaks as Cass picked up the bottle and carefully retrieved the brush so she could close it. “It’ll come off.” 

But it did not.

Instead they both watched in slowly mounting dread as yellow sparkles smeared over the fabric, leaving behind a very obvious stain. Cass glanced over the bed and grabbed for the polish remover, pushing it at Bruce with raised eyebrows. He nodded, uncapping the lid and going for a cotton ball before deciding it wouldn’t be enough and pouring a small amount out onto the largest stain. 

The dread quickly turned to horror as they both watched the the wet patch expand over the bedspread, leaching the light green color of the fabric with it, turning it a vibrant, burnt orange with white patches. 

Bruce stood on the side of the bed nearest the door while Cass kneeled over the mattress. They looked up at each other slowly. _“Alfred.”_ Cass whispered. 

“Hn.” Bruce frowned and surveyed the damage, there was no hiding it, but if they worked quickly... “There’s a guest room in the Northern wing that has the same bedspread. We can swap them out. But if I know Alfred, he’s going to bring us tea at some point and we need to move quickly.” 

Cass’s bright look of concern shifted immediately into one of determination and she gave a sharp nod. Quickly, and methodically they moved everything off the bed, Bruce paused the movie but Cass stopped him, motioning to her ears.

 _He will hear,_ she signed and Bruce couldn’t hold back a light huff of laughter. 

“Sometimes I do think he has some form of ESP.” Cass made a confused face but didn’t ask as she continued carefully moving the tray of beauty supplies to the top of the trunk at the foot of her bed. 

The Northern wing wasn’t on the opposite side of the manor but it was close enough, and near enough to the second laundry room that they would need to be watchful for Alfred. Bruce carefully folded up the ruined quilt and tucked it under his left arm, checking the sheets and thankfully finding no damage. Cass led the way, peaking silently, and very slowly, around the edge of the door frame before reaching back and motioning him forward without a word.

They stuck close to the wall, and Bruce watched Cass, in her element. She moved like a snake, fluid and utterly without sound, a never wavering balance even on her toes. Her eyes roamed the sconces on the walls, lights on low.

Cass glanced back at him as they neared an intersection between halls and stopped at the edge, eyes serious, body suddenly rigid. Bruce frowned, a mildly uneasy feeling settling over his shoulders at the clearly intense posture. They had just been watching a movie, nothing had really happened, but Bruce knew that sometimes even the smallest things could trigger unwanted or forgotten memories, of which Cass had plenty. 

“Cass.” He whispered, hoping to interrupt whatever thought might be running through her head. And then he watched in minor astonishment the complete shift in her face and body. She stood up straight, serious eyes going bright in an instant. She gave him an exasperated look, rolling her eyes before she lifted her hands and signed.

_Pretend, sneak._

“Oh,” Bruce shifted on his feet, feeling foolish. “Of course.”

________

_“It’s interesting, there are things that all children need. Fundamental parts of growing up. It’s been found that in children who did not experience one or more of these things, or experienced a stunted or limited form, that they will often be drawn to them into adulthood._

_“For someone like Cassandra, it is good to remember that much of her childhood was this way, she may benefit from many activities that would normally be categorized as childish by other girls her age._

_“Certain games, playing pretend, any number of things.” Dr. Xie shifted in her seat, eyes lighting up in interest. “In fact there is much debate on whether certain activities truly are childish or if we simply are trained out of them with age. You should participate, it could be good for you as well.”_

________

Cass shifted back into form, lowering her center of gravity and getting into a ready stance, on her toes. She held up a hand suddenly, fingers counting down steadily to one, then abruptly she tipped forward, executing a perfect safety roll across the floor to the other side of the hallway and popping back up, utterly silent.

Bruce had often marveled at her abilities in the field but seeing her use them for something as innocent as hiding a stain on her bedspread made something warm settle in his chest. Bruce followed a split second later, blanket tucked to his chest like a baby. 

She moved fast after that, low to the ground and sharp, Bruce almost found it a challenge to keep up without making any noise. Almost.

The laundry room in question was coming up ahead of them and Cass slowed. The light was on inside, casting a sliver from the open door across the floor. They both rolled to the other side of the hall again, to the wall that held the doorway. They inched closer, crouched low until Cassandra placed a finger tip to the doorframe and looked back at him and signed, _quiet._

Inside the laundry room Alfred could be heard, humming softly under his breath, accompanied by various noises of fabric rustling and the washer or dryer being opened. Cass once again held up a hand for a countdown of three and Bruce watched, his eyes sliding down to see her propped on one knee, her heels held in the air and resting on the balls of her bare feet. Just as the countdown reached one Bruce reached out on a whim, and ran his index finger up the sole of her nearest foot. 

She began to push herself up and tuck her arms in to complete another safety roll but jerked her leg away from the sensation, stumbling and knocking her knee into the floor with a startled squeak. All in all it really wasn’t very loud, but the humming from inside the laundry room went quiet and Cass looked back at him with wide, betrayed eyes while her mouth twisted in a suppressed smile. 

Bruce sprung into action, bursting forward across the doorway and scooping her up in his arms along with the blanket, dashing down the hall and into the nearest room. He spun around and Cass grabbed the door, closing it without letting the latch click as he let her slip to the floor. Bruce held a finger to his lips when she looked at him and pressed his ear to the door. 

She watched him with bright eyes and copied his position, one palm flat on the plane of wood. They listened for the sound of shuffling feet in the hall, coming closer and closer until Alfred stood just outside the room, at which point Cass shot back from the door and stared at Bruce with both hands clamped over her mouth. Bruce held up a hand and waited.

Alfred was quiet, a clear pause in activity.

 _“How curious.”_ Bruce heard him say, before the sound of his footsteps padded quietly on the carpet again, fading in the distance. 

“We’re clear.” Bruce whispered, at which point Cass dissolved into giggles before she managed to recover herself, wiping the smile off her face in an almost alarming show of self control. 

They snuck back out of the room and made the rest of the journey in silence, quick glances around each corner, before they reached the Northern wing and Bruce took the lead in navigating to the room he’d been thinking of. Once inside, a perfectly matching quilt to the one they had ruined sat before them and Bruce dropped the damaged one on the floor in order to help Cass strip the bed. 

They made quick work of it, folding the replacement up neatly and unfolding Cass’s. They very carefully spread it out on the mattress and remade the bed. The stain stood out like a beacon in the center of the empty room and Cass made a face before she whispered.

 _“Going to know.”_ Bruce hummed as he picked up the clean quilt.

“...If we’re lucky there’ll be another gala before he revisits this room and we can blame it on a drunk guest who got past security.” 

Cass snickered, “Sneaky.” Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“The sneakiest.” Her eyes squinted up in delight before she pointed at herself.

“No, me.” Bruce huffed a breath through his nose.

“Maybe. Now,” He held the blanket up, “shall we?” Cass immediately sunk into a crouch and held her left hand near her face, fingers curved around an invisible box. She made a static noise and then spoke into her hand.

 _“Mission is a go.”_ Her voice came out in a falsely deep voice and Bruce choked back a laugh, suddenly feeling a swell of affection so strong he almost stumbled from it. He nodded sharply and raised his own fake walkie-talkie. 

_“Message received, over.”_ Cass grinned, bright and unabashed just before she rolled across the top of the bed, snagged the quilt from his arms and dashed out the door in a near sprint on silent feet. 

She had an unfair advantage really, Bruce told himself, as he tried to catch her without making a noise. The uneven weight distribution meant Bruce was unlikely to succeed but he found it didn’t bother him much when she beat him back to her room. Especially when he barreled in after her, grabbed her around the waist and threw her bodily onto the mattress, where she bounced with a loud laugh until she settled, staring at the ceiling, hair sticking out of her braids surrounding her like a halo.

She raised her fake walkie-talkie, _“Kssshhh, Mission accomplished.”_ The extreme drop in her voice had Bruce laughing deep in his chest again before he motioned her up. 

“Hurry, I have a sixth sense about these things and Alfred is close.” They remade the bed quickly, began piling everything back onto it, complete with the laptop. Bruce skipped back fifteen minutes or so in the movie and sat back down _just_ as there was a knock on the door frame and Alfred came striding in.

Cass’s expression was comical. Mouth dropping open in astonishment, to which Alfred only raised an eyebrow. “I thought perhaps you might enjoy some tea, while you have...” He stared at the snacks and beauty supplies for a moment, “An evening in.” He finally settled on, stepping into the room fully and setting the tray on the bed.

“Thank you Alfred.” Bruce reached over subtly, hand hidden by the laptop screen, and pinched Cass lightly in the thigh. She twitched and gave Alfred a suddenly bright smile at which the man paused, eyes flicking to Bruce, as if to ask _is everything alright here?_ “I think we’re good on snacks and everything else, right Cass?” She nodded eagerly when Bruce looked over and Alfred eyed them both closely for a moment before he nodded in return.

“Very well, just let me know if you need anything.” He left the room with a single look back and a twitch of his mustache. Cass melted into the pillows at the head of the bed as soon as he stepped out and Bruce let out a long breath, glancing back to find her shaking in silent laughter. 

“It’s only a matter of time you know. I’m not the only one to blame.”

She grimaced and Bruce shook his head. They would both pay for it somehow, whether it be a suit washed in a particularly perfumey detergent or their least favorite meal for a few days. _“Vegetables.”_ Cass grumbled, a disgruntled look on her face. 

Bruce snorted and gave a knowing nod before he looked back at the computer, finally relaxing back into the pillows next to his daughter. “Should we just start the movie over?” He asked her, not recognizing at least two of the characters on screen. She made a face and shrugged.

“Won’t make a difference.” And no, it probably wouldn’t. She scooted closer to him on the bed, leaning into his side and resting her head on his arm. He dropped his right hand between them and grasped her left one in his, giving it a tight squeeze. Cass gave two tight pulses in return and then raised their hands, still grasped together and used her other hand to extend his fingers and display his nails. He looked down at her, where her eyes tilted up to meet his.

“You now.” Bruce was momentarily taken off guard.

“I...don’t know Cass.” He said, thinking of board rooms and _his other children._ But she gave a soft frown, a small wrinkle forming between her eyebrows that looked just the wrong side of disappointed. 

Bruce couldn’t take it.

“Fine.” He sighed, he was such a lost cause. Cass immediately sprang up, diving for the pile of nail polish and rifling through until she retrieved the matching, sparkly yellow color he’d used on her. 

Bruce gave a long suffering sigh before he levered himself up off the bed again and went to retrieve a towel. “We need to put something down on the bedspread this time at least.”

“Won’t make mistakes, _you.”_ Cass called after him. Bruce rolled his eyes as he came back out of the bathroom.

“Oh, I see, well I’d rather not risk the wrath that would come with ruining two sets of blankets so, just to be safe.” He spread it out between them before he climbed back on the bed, settling himself cross legged with his back to the pillows once more and allowing Cass to take his left hand in the both of hers, while he attempted to figure out what he had missed in the movie.

“I thought that character died earlier?” Bruce mused, Cass shook her head, face very close to his hand.

“Fake. Like you.”

“Hn, doubtful.” But he leaned back into the pillows a little more heavily and watched nonetheless, while she painted his nails. He sipped at the tea Alfred brought them and made a face. It was bitter. 

_He already knows then, figures._

They fell into a soft silence and Bruce found himself relaxing, more heavily than he would have expected or intended. The feeling of Cassandra’s soft, warm hands, calluses scraping softly over his own as she nimbly trailed the brush down each of his nails...it was bizarrely calming and he suddenly understood why people spent so much of their time and money on this. 

So much so that Bruce, in fact, nodded off.

When he came to again, it was to an unfamiliar sensation on his feet. He twitched involuntarily when he opened his eyes, blinking himself back to awareness as quickly as possible, feeling utterly guilty for falling asleep on Cass in the middle of something that was supposed to be for _her-_

“Hold still.” 

_“Cass.”_ Bruce stared, at his sparkly toenails, a little despairingly. She looked up at him, from where she was bent over his feet, hair falling out of her braids in a way so reminiscent of a little girl who’d been roughhousing all day that her grin only made him softer, like a blanket wrapped around his heart. 

The laptop was closed and set off to the side, the popcorn was gone, and if Bruce was judging correctly, a bag of sour gummy candies was also missing. 

Cass held up her hand, fingernails level with his toes. 

“We match.”

“It’s beautiful Sweetheart.” She nodded in agreement, ignoring his flat delivery as she bent back over his feet, finishing up his last two toes. She blew on them once when she was finished and it was such an odd sensation Bruce almost flinched. Then she gave a sharp nod to herself, crawled up next to him, and set her feet next to his. Bruce sat up slowly and watched, bemused, as she slipped her cell phone from the pocket of her robe and pointed the camera at their feet. 

He posed accordingly, leaning his feet against her own, seeing once again, how they dwarfed hers. It was a wonder, he thought, how much was held in such a small person.

How much she carried, how much she was. 

“Now hands.” She looked back at him, derailing his train of thought. 

“Cass.” He closed his eyes, long suffering to the end, but she shoved him in the leg, a little demandingly and Bruce felt his last tangible thread of concern melt away. 

Cass and Dick had always been the only two of his kids willing to demand attention and affection. Bruce knew she was feeling better if she was being pushy, so he let her maneuver one of his hands, planting it palm first, flat on the bed and laying her matching one on top, so her nails rested just below his.

This, somehow, was still not enough, and she next propped herself on her knees and raised her phone for a selfie. She grinned, wide, while Bruce stared steadfastly into the lens with no expression.

Cass dropped to her butt on the mattress and pulled up each photo, inspecting them with a close eye.

“For Stephanie.” Bruce raised his eyebrows and dropped back into the pillows once again.

“Oh joy.” She gave him an amused look, mouth ticking up on the side as she flopped down next to him. She was silent for a moment, and Bruce looked at the closed laptop.

“Do you want to put a new movie on?” 

“Yes.” She said, decidedly, but she still didn’t move. Bruce wondered if she was waiting for him to do it, sometimes she wasn’t good with technology and avoided it outside of her cell phone. But just when he was about to go about setting it up again she shifted next to him, pushing herself up in the pillows.

Lightning fast, she leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. _“Thank you.”_ She whispered, before she slid back down, tucking her knees up to her chest. Bruce felt frozen for a moment, like a rebooting computer before he stuttered back into motion. He slid an arm behind her back and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her even closer so he could plant a kiss to the top of her head, throat tight with emotion.

“I love you, Cassie.” She turned her face into his chest, and he felt a hand curl in his shirt.

 _“Love you too.”_ Her voice was soft and teary and Bruce felt a painful lump rise in his throat for the thousandth time in recent weeks, and he held her, right up until she pushed herself away and slid down the bed for the laptop.

Bruce watched her, and he thought about how much he had taken her for granted. 

It hurt so much to see her lose sight of how amazing she was. How important. But he knew that sometimes, even when it had been years, the lessons didn’t always stick like they should.

Like you wanted them to.

________

_“Sometimes - most times, really - we have to learn something more than once for the lesson to stick. Do not get frustrated if you find something difficult still, even after you try and try. It’s normal to relapse, to fall back into old habits, because that’s easy._

_“We as human beings naturally do what is easy. It’s a part of our biology._

_“Think of your children. When you teach them something new, or a new way of doing something they’ve always done - do you expect perfection? Or do you give them time for practice, to learn?” She paused, and Bruce nearly startled, not expecting the question to be anything but rhetorical._

_“I...of course it takes practice.”_

_“And so you give them time, and you let them learn.” He found she sometimes did this, made statements that were actually questions and Bruce often found it irritating. And then he thought of his kids and how hard they would probably laugh at him if they knew._

_“Yes.”_

_“This is no different, what we’re doing here. It takes practice, and hard work, and even then it may never be easy, but it will get easier each time.“_

________

This was a lesson Cassandra would probably need to learn over and over. One that didn’t always stick. But Bruce would run through it with her again. 

As many times as it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Being real, as I was writing this I was like “Is this too over the top? Too _soft?_ ” and then I thought, “Hell yes it is, and I’m keeping it that way.” Lol
> 
> Give Cass a Second Childhood 2020!
> 
> Anyhow, this chapter was harder to write than I anticipated. It doesn’t 100% follow the same pattern as the previous two, because I had in mind from the beginning what I wanted Bruce to end up doing with Cass, but I kept faltering at how _Bruce_ would have ended up coming up with this idea, because other things seemed more obvious and more within Bruce’s scope. Plus I wanted the Emotional Moment™️ That Tim and Damian had so we ended up with Guest Star Steph!
> 
> Dick’s chapter is next ;) (As an FYI his chapter might take longer...I always have trouble with his characterization for some reason)
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed please :) and don’t forget to check out the next fic in the series _Clearly Calm and Keeping Terrorized_ To which this is a prequel.


	5. Let My Anger Turn Into Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was apparent to Bruce that something had been bothering Dick for quite some time, but he wasn’t sure what it was or how to address it. His therapist assured he should stick to the plan and things would only improve from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we finally are. This chapter was just as difficult as I thought it was going to be. Again a little different, I feel, than the others, but I hope you still enjoy!

Bruce thought, initially, that finding something to do with Dick would be easier than the others. Before he had been derailed by Stephanie and sent in Cass’s direction, at least.

Since then, he’d met with his therapist once more, and they’d talked about Dick, in more detail than in the past. He had admitted he still wasn’t sure what he wanted to take him to do and Dr. Xie had been perfectly happy to assist in finding something good. Of course light hearted conversation never quite stayed that way when his therapist was sharply intelligent and not willing to let him push off things he found uncomfortable. 

________

_“Dick being the oldest, you must have a different relationship with him, than your other children?” Bruce thought about this, considering, and shifted in his seat._

_“Yes, definitely.” She smiled in return, making a small mark on her notepad._

_“Does he take charge more? Look out for his younger siblings?” Bruce nodded slowly._

_“Oh yes, sometimes more than they appreciate.” Dr. Xie gave a soft laugh and nodded along before her posture shifted just slightly._

_“I remember you mentioning before that he came to Damian’s defense, even toward you, after a recent...mishap.” Bruce frowned at the reminder but nodded again._

_“Are things better between you now? Has that been...resolved?” Bruce wanted to give a quick yes, but he hesitated, just enough for her to zero in on it._

_“No? I thought you were getting along better, after you took Damian to the art class?”_

_“We are, it’s not...that exactly.” Bruce shifted and then stilled. He wasn’t one to fidget and he didn’t know what it was about these appointments that made him unable to sit still._

_“Did something else happen?” She prompted when he remained quiet._

_“No.” Bruce frowned. “Not to my knowledge.”_

_“But you think something is wrong.”_

_Bruce gave a soft sigh, sitting forward on the couch. “I don’t know, that’s....the thing.”_

__

_Dr. Xie watched him for a moment and finally tilted her head and set down her pen._

_“Please, explain.”_

________

His session had actually run long, something that hadn’t happened yet, because she hadn’t wanted to send him away after dragging up all of this stuff without giving him something manageable to work on. 

________

_“Don’t feel as though because there may be something unresolved between you, that you can’t do this. It’s still a good idea and the more time you spend together the more likely it is that it can be worked out, whatever the problem may be.” Bruce swallowed and nodded, unsure how to process the jumble of emotions the conversation had brought up._

_“Before you go I’d like us to come up with what you’re going to do with him. It will be one less thing to tackle on your own. So, is there anything in particular that you think Dick would enjoy?”_

_Bruce had to shift his train of thought with effort._

_“He...enjoys gymnastics,” Bruce mused, “and - most physical activity. He used to go skydiving.” Dr. Xie blinked in interest._

_“Oh? So he’s a bit of an adrenaline junkie then?” She asked._

_Bruce nodded. “Yes.”_

_“Though I suppose you all are, considering.” She smirked and leaned back in her chair as she continued, “what sorts of things did you used to do, when he was young?” Bruce rubbed his hands over his pant legs, thinking back to countless afternoons spent, just the two of them._

_“We would go out for ice cream, or to the zoo, sometimes the amusement park.”_

_“Oh?” She went on to ask more casual questions, slowly but surely bringing Bruce’s stress level back down. He could tell she was doing it, knew the tactic himself, but it still worked and he was glad to let it._

_“How about this. Why don’t you take him to the amusement park? There’s lots of things to do, so if there’s anything he doesn’t enjoy he can pick something else. It’s something you used to do together, so he’ll probably appreciate the thought.”_

_Bruce nodded along slowly. “Yes, that’s...a good idea.” He wiped a hand across his mouth, studying the floor._

_“What if it does come up and I...” He took a slow breath through his nose, staring at his knees. “Dick and I don’t have the best track record with important conversations,” Bruce trailed off. She gave him an understanding smile._

_“We can talk about that, about how to handle the conversation if things become emotional.”_

________

She’d then had him run through a few relaxation techniques with her. Ones she had already taught him, and that he had known even before beginning to see her. Bruce sometimes felt that this was unnecessary, but she always gave him an unimpressed look and insisted that repetition and practice were always a good idea. 

He couldn’t deny that she was right, it took a lot of practice to make something second nature, so he went along with it. 

By the time he left her office he’d shaken out of the anxiety and felt more centered. There was something to accomplish, and that always helped. Bruce wasn’t going to take Dick to Gotham City Amusement Park. No, not after the number of terrible memories the whole family associated with all of Amusement Mile. But a theme park, in general, wasn’t a bad idea. They used to go when Dick was much younger, before Bruce had taken in any other children, before Dick had become Robin even. Before their lives had become quite so...complicated.

It would be fun and exciting, but still give them time to rest and just walk around. They could _talk_ and enjoy a game here and there.

So he searched online for a different park, one with enough large roller coasters to keep the adrenaline junkie in Dick entertained and enough carnival games to occupy their time when they didn’t feel like anymore rides. New Jersey as a state had a long history with roller coasters and in the end he was lucky enough to find a well rated park near Bludhaven.

Confident in his choice, it then came down to asking Dick, just as all the others. Bruce thought at first that he would likely need to call him, as he had Tim. But, as life would have it, things did arrange themselves somewhat conveniently for the task.

Dick was called in to Gotham for an assist on a case by Tim. And while Red Robin had gone on to his own apartment at the end of patrol, Nightwing came back to the manor, professing his need for a midnight snack that wasn’t fast food. Everyone showered and changed in silence, a heavy tiredness weighing at all of their shoulders from a patrol that ran particularly long.

Bruce finished cleaning up first and forced himself to sit down at the computer and write up his patrol notes while all of the kids filtered up into the manor behind him, calling their goodnights as they went. He would have to badger them into doing their own notes later, but it was late and everyone deserved their rest. 

It took Bruce longer than normal to complete his own. It certainly wasn’t helped by his fatigue but there was also the possibility that he was stalling. The perfect opportunity would be upstairs in the kitchen, just waiting for him. It was unlikely they would find another time when the both of them were alone and available to talk without the threat of someone interrupting them at any moment. Not to mention getting Dick to even answer his phone could be an obstacle in itself and he certainly didn’t want to do this over text. 

As much as Bruce would be happy to avoid the discomfort of asking in person, there were factors he preferred to observe up close, especially in this case. Finally, he shut down the computer and got himself walking, stiff kneed, up the staircase to the manor. 

He found Dick in the kitchen, standing in the glow of the open fridge in the dark, eating cold Chicken Marsala directly from the container.

Bruce flicked on the light as he stepped into the room, receiving a pained squint from Dick.

“The least you could do is close the fridge,” Bruce remarked.

Dick’s mouth was full, hair damp and flopping in his eyes when he looked up, then behind him at the fridge. He shuffled out of the way as Bruce approached and took a protein drink from the door before closing it himself. 

Dick gave a hard swallow and grinned. “I just knew you were right around the corner is all.” 

It was moments like this that made Bruce wonder if he was just imagining things. If the things he had brought up to his therapist were all in his head and he was reading too far into his son’s behavior. Because he seemed perfectly at ease.

“Hn, you’re lucky Alfred’s not up.” 

Dick snorted, stabbing another chicken medallion with gusto. He was leaned up against the kitchen island, hip cocked to one side. “He’d probably be more upset about me eating this cold than leaving the fridge open.”

“Probably,” Bruce agreed. He cracked the top of the bottle open and took a long drink from it before leaning his back against the counter directly next to the fridge so he was facing his son. Dick turned toward the island and lowered his top half to rest his elbows on the counter to continue eating, still standing. Bruce watched him for a moment before he drained the rest of the protein drink and tossed the bottle in the trash. Then he went to get the both of them a glass of water.

It was silent in the room as he went, just the clinking of glasses and the cabinet closing behind him, the rush of water from the tap. He set the first glass next to Dick’s elbow before he poured the second and watched him give a nod of thanks and then drain half the water in one gulp. 

“Will you be staying for breakfast in the morning?” Bruce assumed he was staying the night by his pajama’s. If he hadn’t planned on it already he would have something to say about that too. Dick hummed as he set the glass down and wiped an arm across his mouth.

“Probably not. Got work in the morning, but I’ll be taking those leftover scones.” He motioned to a plate on the counter next to Bruce, carefully saranwrapped. Bruce nodded, took a sip from his glass and then looked back at Dick. He studied him for a moment, searching for a hint of what he had talked to Dr. Xie about, but he seemed relaxed and unbothered.

Right up until he looked up.

“What?” He asked, mouth full and shoulders immediately stiffening. And there it was, Bruce wasn’t imagining it, he knew he wasn’t. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been staring at me since you came in here.” Bruce could tell he was keeping his voice casual on purpose, could sense the slight tension in his frame that he tried to push down. It was something Bruce had begun noticing recently, but couldn’t figure out when it had actually begun. 

________

_“I think Dick has been avoiding me,” Bruce blurted, after an extended silence. Dr. Xie frowned and nodded._

_“And when did you begin to notice this?”_

_The thing was though, Bruce didn’t really know. It seemed to occur to him over time, becoming more and more apparent the more he paid attention. “I...I’m not sure, but it’s been some time. Since before the docks, when he was upset about how I handled Damian.”_

_She nodded along and picked up her pen again to add a new note. She asked him, “so you think it has to do with a different incident, one you can’t pin down.” Bruce sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck._

_“It’s the only thing I can think of. It’s just...strange.”_

_Dr. Xie looked up at him again._

_“Strange in what way? That you can’t think of what would cause it? Or that he’s doing it at all? Does it seem out of character for him?”_

_“No.” Bruce shook his head, gazing at the window across the room. “It’s not necessarily out of character. He used to avoid me like the plague when he was a teenager, when I upset him.” Bruce struggled to give voice to what had been slowly becoming apparent to him the longer time went on._

_“When he’s been angry with me, recently...he doesn’t avoid me. Maybe because of his brothers, I’m not sure. But he doesn’t. It’s when he’s...not, that I’ve noticed it.” Bruce rubbed at his left thumb while Dr. Xie tapped her pen lightly on her notepad._

_“He avoids you when he’s_ not _upset,” she said, flipping her pen back upright. Bruce released a soft breath through his nose and pursed his lips._

_“Yes, but-“ Dr. Xie waited. Even when Bruce’s silence drew on she sat quietly. He appreciated it, being given the time to think. “It’s not just that...he’s not just avoiding me, there’s...I can tell that there’s some sort of tension there. Especially anytime we’re alone together, like he can’t relax.”_

_She considered this for a moment, tilting her head back and forth. Then she said, “how long has it been since you began to take notice of this behavior?” Bruce shook his head, thinking back. He was reluctant to say really, because it was a long time, and he knew how she felt about letting things lie that needed to be addressed._

_“Six months, at least,” he finally admitted. She would give him some leeway, he knew, since this all began before he ever started seeing her but he still felt compelled to explain, just a little. “I thought at first I was imagining it. And then I figured it was probably something small, and that Dick would say something if it wasn’t. I figured at least that it would fade over time but...it hasn’t.” She nodded as he spoke, no judgement in her face._

_“I understand, not every situation is clear or easy to address. Especially when it’s something so abstract.” She tapped her fingers on the armrest of her chair a moment and looked thoughtful._

_“I don’t think this changes anything.”_

_Bruce blinked at her._

_“I still think it’s good to move forward with the plan already in motion.”_

________

Bruce glanced away, instead studying the glass in his hands for a moment, feeling caught out. He cleared his throat and took anything drink before looking back up. Dick was staring at him, fork resting in the Tupperware, eyes... _cautious_ if Bruce hazarded a guess.

Bruce cleared his throat before he spoke, “I was wondering if you have any plans this weekend.” Dick blinked in surprise for a moment and glanced at his food. He smiled and Bruce inspected it closely, unsure if it was sincere or put on.

“Finally my turn huh?” Bruce didn’t freeze up or react in any noticeable way though the question surprised him. No one had really acknowledged the obvious pattern to his most recent actions, which he appreciated. Bruce could only take so much honesty and talking at a time. 

“There’s an amusement park just outside of Bludhaven. I thought we could go...like we used to,” Bruce answered, entirely ignoring the question. It was strangely difficult to take teasing from Dick at times, especially when he already felt guilty for numbering his kids off like this, even it was unavoidable. It wasn’t as though he could do everything at the same time.

Bruce watched Dick’s face closely as he swallowed his last bite and set down his fork. He didn’t miss the way he froze up for an instant, something close to anxiety in his eyes before he gave a wide grin.

“Absolutely.” 

  


*

  
  


They met up around noon, in the drizzling rain with heavy clouds overhead. It wasn’t ideal but anything else that time of year would have made Bruce suspicious of foul play, wondering what villain might be responsible. Dick dressed warm, he noted, probably more to appease Bruce than for any personal preferences but he appreciated it. With the weather what it was it at least meant the park wasn’t very busy, even for a weekend.

They stopped for lunch first, exploring vendors serving traditional carnival food. Giant pickles accompanied by curly fries, corn dogs, and ice cream cones. They both got turkey legs in the end.

“I can’t believe the healthiest option here is a giant piece of meat,” Bruce muttered. 

Dick rolled his eyes before taking a large bite of his own. “Please do not complain about the calorie content of what basically amounts to fair food. You’re taking away from the nostalgia of this experience. You never used to care about health food.” Bruce gave his son a _look_ as they took seats at a covered picnic table in a grassy area that was damp and a little soft to walk on, but not muddy.

“Not until you threw up in the middle of the night after one too many pieces of licorice.” Dick snorted.

“I forgot about that.” 

“I didn’t. I thought you were bleeding internally,” Bruce groused. Dick laughed a little harder, covering his mouth to stop from spitting turkey on the table.

“If it was blood it would have been dark, not fluorescent pink.” He pointed his turkey leg at Bruce, as if to make his point stronger. 

“Hn, try telling that to a first time parent.” 

Bruce hadn’t spent time with Dick just the two of them in quite some time. Now that he had given voice to the issue that had been floating around, undefined in the back of his head, he couldn’t stop looking for hints of it. He found himself inspecting all of his reactions, trying to gauge if they were real or not. He tried to tell himself to relax, it wouldn’t help either of them to dissect every word and movement from his son but it was a difficult thing to turn off. Especially when he knew what a good actor Dick could be. 

“I wouldn’t care so much if any of you were capable of exercising self control when it came to these things,” Bruce grumbled to himself, begrudgingly taking a bite and refusing to admit it wasn’t half bad. Dick only smiled around a full mouth, chewing obnoxiously with his mouth open. Bruce ate most of the turkey leg inspite of his feelings on the matter, while watching Dick devour the entirety of his own.

Which was then followed elephant ears, handed off straight out of the fryer on flimsy paper plates that might as well be napkins. Dick juggled his carefully to keep from burning his finger tips until it had cooled enough that he could eat it. Then he ate two thirds of Bruce’s when he could only manage a few bites himself.

“What is wrong with you? It’s fried bread, how can you not love this?” Dick tore off another piece and popped it in his mouth.

“It might have something to do with the entire turkey leg I just ingested. I think I can hear my stomach crying out for vegetables.”

Dick only laughed at him, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Nah, you gotta live a little Bruce. Your diet is way too restricted, if you don’t get a healthy dose of junk food in regularly then your stomach can’t handle it.” 

Bruce swallowed a smile, listening to the distant sound of a merry-go-round. “Oh? Is that why I feel like my heart is pounding?” He took the floppy paper plates from Dick and carefully dropped them in a trash bin as they passed.

Dick made a face at him before he responded, “Oof, you got sugar palpitations from _that?”_ Bruce stopped, standing in the rain, and stared at his son.

“I got what?”

“Sugar palpitations,” Dick said, like this was a perfectly common phrase. Bruce blinked.

“Those words, as far as I’m aware, do not share any meaning.”

Dick grinned, licking a last few sugar crystals from his fingers. “You know, it’s when you eat a bunch of sugar and your heart rate spikes. Sugar palpitations.” Bruce turned and followed as Dick breezed by him. On his way back toward the main thoroughfare where the rides lined each side of the pavement. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat as Bruce caught up with him.

“You should come for dinner more often, or I’m going to tell Alfred what you just said to me.” 

Dick snorted, throwing his head back and squinting in the rain. “I thought we were supposed to be getting along, and now you’re making threats?” They kept walking, Dick perusing their options with a calculating eye. “I’ll have to drag Damian here, someday,” he mumbled, offhand as he looked up at a tall ride with individual cars, creatively labeled _The Zipper._

Bruce hummed in agreement, thinking of his youngest son and the things that would make him laugh, even in spite of how hard he tried not to. 

“You’ve never taken him somewhere like this?” Bruce asked. Dick glanced over, eyebrows raised, and Bruce could tell immediately that something about the question was not appreciated. 

“No? Why would I have.” There was a distinct defensive tone to his words and Bruce paused, unsure exactly how to respond.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “It just seems like something you would do.” Bruce watched his face out of the corner of his eye as they continued to walk. He let out a soft huff of air and rolled his eyes in a gesture that Bruce wasn’t sure he was meant to see. He was clearly annoyed but for the life of him Bruce had no idea why. This was the sort of thing he had been talking about with his therapist. These little land mines that Bruce could never see coming. Dick steered around them, apparently, by just steering around Bruce but it was certainly not a solution he was happy with.

“You try getting the kid to go somewhere called an _amusement park.”_ The slight bitterness was buried, but Bruce could still hear it.

“Hn, I can imagine it wouldn’t be easy.” Bruce warred with himself internally. He was torn between addressing it and letting the issue go for now.

Bruce had always had trouble expressing himself, and in turn often had trouble asking others to do the same. He’d been prone to ignoring things that should be talked about with Dick in the past. Or vise versa, bringing them up at the wrong time or in the worst way and setting the entire conversation off on the very wrong foot. His fumbling in the arena made him even less likely to try to have conversations about things that might lead to strong emotions in himself or someone else, But sometimes especially Dick.

He was sure Dick’s apparent avoidance of whatever was between them now wasn’t unrelated to the pattern Bruce had set. 

He had worked with Dr. Xie on how to handle it if things became emotional but he still wasn’t sure if it was the right moment.

________

_“You aren’t in any rush. It’s not an emergency. You can give yourself time to find the right words and the right moment. Just don’t use it as an excuse not to say something when you should.”_

________

The _right moment_ was a hard thing to define, Bruce found, but it wasn’t urgent. Dick was clearly eager to leave the topic alone, and their day together had really just gotten started. Bruce was blatantly aware that his avoidance of the issue so far had not helped anything one bit. But he was reluctant to start in on such a possibly volatile conversation so quickly. Maybe they would get there before the day was up, maybe they wouldn’t. He dreaded and hoped for it in equal measure.

Bruce found now that he was actively trying to heal the broken bits of his relationships, and to better things with his family, that it was equally as difficult to leave things alone as it was to bring them up. He was eager to make a change, but hesitant to fumble the entire thing and cause more damage.

He would wait for now, he had time, and he could try to get a better picture of the problem now that it was just the two of them.

Dick pointed to a ride across the way and Bruce turned to find the Chair Swings spinning away. It was one of Dick’s favorite rides as a little boy and so they gave it the honor of being their first one of the day. They stood at the bottom of the ride while it went through its cycle, watching little dangling feet swing out above them. It was almost half empty.

“You know, this ride always reminded me of the trapeze,” Dick said quietly. Bruce glanced over, watching him as he continued to stare up at the swings. He raised a hand to wave to a little boy who swung by with his hand out, leaning over the edge of his seat.

It had never been a particularly popular ride in comparison to the roller coasters and others. Bruce had thought, even when Dick was young, that it seemed mildly out of character that it was his favorite. Not when there were bigger, flashier, and faster rides.

“Mind you, it’s not nearly as cool,” he continued, “but back when we used to come to these parks more often, I used to pretend I was performing.” Bruce stood quietly still, absorbing this with a soft ache in his ribs.

“I never knew that.” 

Dick turned back to him, smile tilted sideways. “Yeah,” He shrugged, “I didn’t want you to feel bad.” Bruce frowned and looked back up at the swings as they began to slow down, hanging straighter as the ride lowered toward the ground.

“Don’t make that face.” Dick jostled him, bumping their shoulders together. “I wasn’t telling you to make you feel bad _now.”_

“No, I know.” Bruce wanted to wrap a hand around his shoulders but he hesitated a beat too long. “I just wish you’d told me back then. We could have come more often.” Dick always had a tendency to act like he was happy, good, _fine,_ even when he was the furthest from it. Even when he had been small. He was either happy or angry and anything in between was buried under a facade of one or the other. 

Bruce had a better knack for recognizing it now than he had back then. And he wondered, at times, how often Dick had been sad, or missing his old life, and Bruce hadn’t noticed. It occurred to him, a little despairingly, that he might not be as good at noticing it now as he thought. 

Dick let out a soft breath and dropped his shoulders down, leaning into his side. “We came plenty Bruce.” He nudged him in the arm. “Don’t beat yourself up. This got way more serious than I intended.” Bruce huffed a laugh as Dick pulled away.

“In fact, I think it’s high time we get on the ride, instead of staring at it. Come on.” Bruce followed obediently, smile tugging at his lips. There was no line, and as soon as the ride was empty of its previous riders they were let into the cordoned off area to find their chosen swings. The seats were all different sizes and while Bruce was ready to take the first adult sized swing he came to, Dick dragged him around until they found two next to each other.

“There’s no fun in performing alone.” Dick winked as he slid the metal belt up the chain and slipped into the seat, toes just grazing the pavement while Bruce joined him. It was quick work for an employee to come around and make sure all of the restraints were fastened. And then they were airborne.

Bruce enjoyed the view, able to see in a wide arch around them as they spun, the gentle pull of inertia slowly dragging them further and further to the side. Dick leaned forward, briefly resting his elbows on the metal restraints before he caught the eye of a young girl in her mother’s arms and lifted a hand to wave. The little girl threw a hand out and returned the gesture with enthusiasm and Dick grinned before kicking a halfhearted foot in his direction. The swings hung too far apart for them to touch each other anyway.

“Come on, you’re in on this too. Wave!” Bruce looked down at the small gathering of people, mostly parents with their children, and complied. A fond rush of warmth filled his chest as he remembered doing exactly the same thing nearly seventeen years before. Nostalgia like never before hit him in the gut. Dick made him feel so old and so young at the same time.

The ride was over quickly, faster than Bruce remembered it being but Dick just rushed them off to something new.

There was a stand selling cotton candy that he couldn’t resist and so Bruce followed and bought him a paper cone, unable to stomach the idea of getting his own. Dick was teasing him, in the midst of trying to shove a large piece in his mouth, or possibly his nose.

“Come on, how long as it been since you’ve eaten cotton candy?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce said, batting his hand away for the third time. “I don’t see how that matters.”

“Just taste it. You won’t be able to resist.” Dick dodged his next swipe and managed to just tap the candy to his mouth before Bruce jerked his head back.

“I don’t know why-“ he grabbed Dick’s wrist on his next jab and plucked the entire cone out of his other hand, “That would motivate me.” He held it above his head when Dick grabbed for it after popping the lone piece in his own mouth. 

“You know you’re height is not an advantage over me.”

“It wouldn’t be, if we weren’t in _public.”_ Bruce gave him a hard stare and Dick smiled broadly.

“As long as you admit it.”

Bruce gave a laughing sigh and lowered his arm. “You get this back if you stop attacking me with it.” 

“Fine fine, party pooper.” Dick waved impatiently for the candy and Bruce gave in to the little urge to shove the entire thing in his face instead of passing it into his hand. 

_“Ack,_ alright jeez.” Dick floundered not to drop it when Bruce let go and coughed on a laugh, lifting a hand to peel away a little pink fluff that stuck to the side of his mouth. Bruce was glad that they could still have this, inspite of whatever might be wrong. He missed just _playing around._ Especially with Dick, who’d been the first one to get him to after his parents died. He was realizing, after roughhousing with Tim, and Cass, and now Dick, that it tended to be few and far between and he should really rectify that.

They walked leisurely for a bit, while Dick finished his cotton candy and went on a couple of the smaller rides. Dick forced him into the _Tornado_ even though it was his least favorite one.

“Spinning at speeds to create that kind of centrifugal force without being able to see any movement is just a recipe for motion sickness Dick.”

“Oh come on, you’ve never been sick from a _ride_ in your life.” And Bruce had sighed, because it was true, and gone anyway. 

“What do you say to a game next?” Dick asked as they exited the ride, turning to face Bruce with his hands in his pockets, entirely unbothered, while people stumbled out after them. Bruce didn’t falter in his step, but his head _was_ spinning a little as they hit the main path again.

“I’d say it sounds good.” 

The first one they came to was a simple dart and balloon game and Dick paid for their darts before Bruce could intervene.

He frowned and Dick rolled his eyes. “Let me be an adult, on occasion, please.” There again was the hint of strain.

“I’m not-” Dick turned to him with a mildly incredulous look.

“We’re doing good here so far. Please don’t make an issue of this,” Dick snapped. Bruce clapped his mouth shut, a zing of annoyance shooting up his spine but fading quickly. He had to keep his temper, something Dr. Xie had emphasized though Bruce already knew it was a weakness.

________

_“Responding in kind to snappish behavior will only make it worse. You know how to diffuse a situation, so use that knowledge, be calm, don’t react in anger. There is often an underlying issue, and the snapping is sometimes just a distraction from the heart of things. Even if the person doesn’t realize it. So pay attention.”_

________

He was right, if Dick wanted to pay for something it was perfectly within his rights to do so. The immediate irritation at Bruce’s reaction wasn’t _entirely_ out of character but he did wonder if it wasn’t all linked.

Bruce made sure his voice was calm when he said, “I’m not making an issue. Thank you for paying.” Dick gave him a vaguely wary look before he nodded tightly and handed him his darts.

“You’re welcome.” He glanced away when he said it, voice quiet and possibly a little chagrined. Bruce took it for the unspoken apology it was and moved down to the other side of the booth, going around two young children, a boy and a girl, already playing on the nearest side.

Dick’s face quickly morphed to a narrow eyed challenge, potential slight forgotten, while Bruce cocked an eyebrow in return. They turned to face their targets.

As expected, they both did extremely well. Bruce missed his last balloon and Dick gave him a pointed look and rolled his eyes while the game attendant went to get them their prizes. “You’re not going to give your identity away by being good at darts,” he whispered.

“Nothing wrong with being cautious,” Bruce said through a smile as he took a bright yellow stuffed animal that...didn’t look like any animal he’d ever seen. Dick huffed and shook his head but it seemed in good humor. Bruce was paying attention, still looking for that underlying discomfort. 

As they began to turn and walk away the two children on the other end of the board caught both of their attention. “Oh no!” The little girl dropped her hands to her sides, face the picture of disappointment while the boy grimaced next to her. “I promised I’d win something for Marcus.” Her voice came out on a high, thin whine and the game attendant looked clearly uncomfortable when it became apparent she was holding back tears.

She was probably eight or so years old, the boy close to the same. “It’s ok,” Her friend tried to pacify, “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“He’s six! Of course he’s gonna mind! And I don’t have anymore quarters.” Dick plucked the yellow stuffed animal from the crook of Bruce’s elbow and took the few steps to meet them.

He crouched down and held it out, along with the electric blue one he’d won that looked like a squirrel, if Bruce was guessing correctly.

“Hey, you know, I just don’t have much room for stuffed animals at my place. How would you like to take these two?” The kids looked momentarily startled and the boy glanced at Bruce.

“Isn’t only one of those yours?” He asked. Dick gave a soft laugh and looked back at Bruce too. He nodded, subtly pulling out his wallet as they spoke.

“He doesn’t mind, trust me, he has too many already.” The girl snorted, pushing curly hair out of her face. Dick leaned in a little closer, conspiritaorial look on his face, and said, “I know, it’s weird, you’re doing me a favor by taking these off my hands.” They both laughed then, the boy covering his mouth with his hand like he knew it was rude but couldn’t help it. Bruce approached and tapped the back of Dick’s neck with a wad of one dollar bills that he reached back for without pause.

“And here, go play whatever games you want.” They both smiled broadly and the girl snatched both the blue squirrel and the money, while the boy politely took the yellow stuffed animal.

“Thank you!” They chorused together before running off, giggling the entire way.

Dick stood, brushed his hands on his pants and watched them go with a soft smile. Bruce watched him, that same rush of fondness from before filling him up. Then Dick turned to him, smile planted firmly in place and squinted.

“What’s that look?” 

Bruce tilted his head. “What look?”

“The look you’re giving me right now, it’s like your _something just happened I don’t know how to respond to_ face...but different.”

Bruce flicked his gaze back toward where the children had run off to, now vanished. His reflex was to deny it and he opened his mouth to do so when every therapy session he’d gone to so far came screaming back into his head like an alarm.

It was continually pressed upon him the importance of verbal appreciation and he had so far managed with the the other three. He could say something here.

“I see you with people,” he began, pausing for a long moment, “With children.” None of this was coming out remotely how he’d hoped. “You’re...good with them,” he finished lamely, voice petering off in a flat tone.

Dick was looking at him with an indescribable expression, one Bruce wasn’t sure how to interpret until he smiled and said, “You know, this is going to embarrass you, but that was really cute.” 

Bruce was sure he must have looked alarmed and yes, perhaps _embarrassed_ was a good word as well. Dick gave a quiet laugh and moved to his side suddenly, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I’m not making fun of you. You just reminded me so much of Damian I could barely believe it.” Bruce gave a sharp exhale and let his shoulders drop, trying to be good humored about it. 

“Alright, you can let go now.” 

Dick squeezed his arm around him one more time and finally backed off. He took a step away and faced Bruce as he walked backward, continuing down the path they had started on. “It’s gonna be tough, now that you’re communicating,” he joked. “I won’t be able to pretend I’m the favorite son anymore, or that you think I’m the best acrobat in the world, or fantasize about how proud you are under the brooding, silent exterior.”

Bruce was prepared to laugh along, to shake off the awkwardness and move on, but the last statement startled him. The moment was lost though, when Dick looked over and gasped.

“B, the teacups!” He bolted for the ride while Bruce was still standing there, trying to formulate a response. He pushed himself to follow, feeling oddly off balance.

“I swear I forgot about this ride. Tim loves this one, did you know that? Even though it literally makes him puke, he will ride it over and over. We seriously need to make a family outing of this some time.”

Dick continued to talk a mile a minute while Bruce did his best to keep track of what he was saying. The words rolled around in his head as they got on the ride. Dick _fantasizing_ about how proud Bruce was certainly didn’t sit right with him. Did this have something to do with the strange anxiety? The undefinable tension in Dick at the oddest times?

He tried to tune back into the conversation as the cup began to spin and Dick gripped the turn table in the center and pulled with all his might. “Come on, I bet we can fling each other out of this thing if we try hard enough.” Bruce went along, helping turn it while Dick continued, voice raised over the music from the ride.

Bruce nodded like he was listening, telling himself to pay attention, and that they could talk about it later. He yanked harder on the turn table and tried to enjoy the dizzy sensation that came along with it. 

“I bet you Stephanie would kill to go on on this with Cass-“

“You shouldn’t fantasize about me being proud of you.” Dick startled, hands slipping off the edge of the wheel, mouth still open. His expression twisted to something like hurt before Bruce’s brain caught up with his mouth and he could curse himself for how it sounded.

“Because I am. I’ve always been proud of you.” Bruce felt like his heart was in his throat, for some reason. He didn’t know why. He had expressed similar things to Tim and Damian recently and done a better job of it. But this discomfort he could sense in Dick for months was making him feel that same, sudden pressure to speak, to _fix_ whatever it was between them. 

Dick closed his mouth and swallowed.

“B-Bruce, it was a joke.” The words weren’t loud enough to carry over the music but Bruce could clearly read his lips and he shook his head. 

“Even so, I didn’t think it was very funny.” Dick still looked startled, perhaps a little embarrassed. He set his hands flat on the turn table and stared at them for a moment. When he looked at Bruce again there was a sort of anxiety in his expression and Bruce knew then, that this was related. Something about Dick’s recent unease had to do with this anxiety regarding Bruce’s opinion of him. Had he gone so wrong that Dick didn’t already know? There was an awkward hanging silence between them as the ride slowed and Bruce wasn’t sure what to say, if he even should say anything else.

Dick was uncharacteristically quiet as they unloaded from the ride. He wore a neutral expression but didn’t say anything else and Bruce found that for the first time that he could remember, he couldn’t stay quiet. “Did you think I wasn’t?” He nearly bit his tongue at the hint of accusation in his tone but hoped that Dick would see through his awkward presentation like he used to. 

“No,” Dick said shortly, shaking his head. They left the area of the ride, walking aimlessly down the central path around the park. He was sure there was no destination in mind. Bruce recognized it as a way for Dick to keep moving. “I mean it’s not- I mean...” For a moment he looked sharply frustrated. Bruce was surprised by it and even more concerned by his apparent difficulty answering. “Yes, I know you’re proud of me,” he bit the words out, a little angrily and Bruce remained quiet and bewildered.

“Dick...”

“Relax Bruce! It was an offhand comment. It was seriously a joke. Don’t go getting a complex,” Dick grumbled, hunching his shoulders in a trademark pose that told Bruce clearly enough that he wanted to drop the subject. 

“Alright,” he answered quietly, hesitating. He felt unsure and a bit dumb. _Wait for the right moment_ he’d told himself, and then blurted it out in the middle of a ride. He had probably ruined what could have been a progressive conversation by jumping the gun. 

But Bruce could feel that tension. It was the same strain that seemed to wax and wane between them for months now. Was it something to do with this? A flare up of the same sorts of insecurities he’d had as a teenager? 

Bruce was very aware of how things were when Dick was younger. That he would get upset and feared Bruce’s disapproval. He remembered a particularly harrowing night when Dick had been dosed with fear gas and had apologized over and over for failing. He had begged Bruce not to leave him. At the time, he had administered the antidote and then had no idea what to do. 

Now though, he had a better one.

Maybe it wasn’t the right time to have this particular conversation but Bruce could keep working toward it. He could ease at least some of the apparent anxiety without forcing anything. Besides, he still had time, and there was no concrete reason to try to tackle the whole thing at the park. It would be better talked about somewhere private. If Bruce could ever hope to gain such an audience with Dick. 

He forced himself to put the thought to the side to work on. Just like a case, sometimes it took a subtle hand and _time._ Bruce could be patient when necessary.

As they continued to walk in silence Dick seemed to relax again. The stiffness of his posture eased as he looked out at their surroundings and his mood made a noticeable shift back into the calm of before. Bruce wondered if he was putting it on or if he really was just that changeable. It could be either. He had always been that way, an explosive temper that was quick to fizzle out if you didn’t stoke the fires. For a while, Bruce hadn’t known how not to, and fights between them were frequent, and intense. 

Now though, on a good day at least, he understood how to ease that temper. 

“What do you say to a little bet?” Bruce asked as they came upon a long stretch of game booths. Dick glanced at him in surprise but offered an easy smile. 

“Didn’t think you were much for gambling.” 

“Hn, only when I know I can win.”

Dick gave a short laugh and squinted a him. “Alright, tell me what it is you’re so confident about and I’ll see if I’m interested.” 

Bruce looked out at the nearest booth and slowed his steps. “I bet I can win the most mini games before the day is up.” 

Dick cocked an eyebrow and looked around them again, taking in the games and prizes hanging on huge nets above them. 

“And what would the winner get?” 

Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know, what do you think?” A mischievous smile was slowly growing on Dick’s face. 

“Loser takes home all the prizes.”

It was Bruce’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Seems a little counter intuitive.”

Dick spun to face him, again walking backward down the path, hands in his pockets.

“Are you saying you _want_ to take home a menagerie of giant plush animals?” Bruce ducked his chin in acknowledgement.

“A good point. Alright, I’m in.” 

Dick grinned. “I want you to display them in the cave,” he said, “next to the dinosaur.” 

Bruce snorted and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s a challenge.” 

Dick turned back around to look at the games as they went. “Oh this is gonna be good,” he said. “This means you can’t pretend to be bad at them, or to miss on purpose, you know.” He gave him a look out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m aware.”

“And you’re ok with that?” 

Bruce gave him a deadpan look. “I think I’ll live.” 

Dick raised a hand, index finger pointed up. “I’m gonna hold you to it, if you biff this on purpose I’m not gonna let it go.”

Bruce huffed a laugh and nodded. “I won’t. It will be a fair game. I don’t want these stuffed animals, trust me.”

Dick laughed and nodded along, “Alright, let’s do it then.”

The first game they played was the ring toss. They continued to tie each round until the last. Bruce was aiming his shot, went for the throw and then jerked to the side just as he released the ring when Dick shoved him from behind. 

They watched the it sail off course and land sadly in the dirt. Dick wasn’t even looking at him when he turned around with narrowed eyes.

“If that’s how we’re going to play...” 

Dick glanced up, face placid and unworried. “What do you mean?”

“Hn.”

From there it became a game of who could cheat the most without getting caught. They _were_ just carnival games after all, not exactly a challenge for Batman and Nightwing. 

It was an easy back and forth as the games continued. An impromptu selfie from Dick to block his eye-line at just the wrong moment, a sly pinch from Bruce to sabotage a shot with a basketball, which Dick still made. 

He turned back to give him an unimpressed look. “You really thought that would work? I’m disappointed.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Bruce said, studying his fingernails. Dick snorted, smirk playing across his mouth as he eyed their next game. It was a large pool filled with fake lily pads and flowers, some clear plastic, others bright colors. The object of the game was to toss a ping pong ball into one of the colored flowers and get it to stay there. 

Bruce went first, easily landing two balls in a row, flicking them backwards out of his palm. Dick stood with his arms crossed to his left.

“So, did Damian tell you yet?”

“Hm?” Bruce asked, aiming the third ball.

“He broke the laser cutter.” He had been waiting for something shocking, a little outrageous, but it was just this side of plausible and Bruce sighed, watching the little ball sail into its assigned cup.

“Is that true or were just trying to make me miss the shot?” He turned to find Dick laughing under his breath.

“I mean, it can’t be both?” 

Bruce waited while the game hand went back for his prize, handing him a green...made up animal, again.

“Your implacable calm is really a hindrance sometimes,” Dick said as he took his place, collecting his own ping pong balls.

“I was expecting you to tell me he’d stabbed a reporter again. The laser cutter can be replaced.” 

Dick snorted and then choked on a laugh just as he was tossing, neatly missing his target by an inch or so. He spun on him.

“Oh my god, did you just successfully make me laugh on purpose?”

Bruce frowned. “I can be funny.” 

Dick nodded, smile crooked on his face. “Yeah, you can. Not on purpose.” He turned back and made the second and third shots in quick succession. He was rewarded with a little red keychain of a similarly made up animal. Bruce was sure they were from a show of some sort, but he couldn’t remember what.

“I feel like I should be offended.”

“Except that you know it’s true.” Dick led them down the main bank of games again, not even glancing at a small shooter game played with BB guns. Bruce really didn’t think he would be overly bothered, but he appreciated the gesture.

They came to a game that involved throwing “knives”, which amounted to thin pieces of dulled metal, at a wooden target. The real difficulty of the game, Bruce was sure, came from getting the dull edges to actually bite into the wood, rather than any issues of aim. 

Dick went first, bouncing the knife off the target into the mesh guard surrounding it. He frowned and adjusted his stance before trying again. This time he landed a hit at the edge.

“You know, this is nothing like throwing...” He paused, glancing at Bruce, _“Real knives.”_ Bruce knew what he meant and held back a smile.

“No, they require a very specific skill set.” Bruce glanced around them, making sure no one was in close enough ear shot or paying them any overdue attention. He lowered his voice as he continued, “I planned it that way, so no one could pick one back up and use it agains me with any skill.”

Dick grinned as he threw his third ‘knife’, watching with satisfaction as it dug into the target, just left of center.

“Unless they picked up one of the, I don’t know, _hundreds_ of them that go missing in the city every month and practiced.” 

Bruce crossed his arms over his chest and held back a smile. “Unless they did that. But really, I don’t think think the...residents of Gotham are that prepared. For anything.”

Dick snorted, holding up his fourth knife to aim. “No, probably not. No one’s as prepared as _you_ for anything.”

“I beg to differ.” Bruce watched the knife sink into the target again, that much closer to center, and marveled at the speed of improvement.

“Oh?” Dick seemed legitimately interested.

“Of course. Tim has always prepared thoroughly for everything.”

Dick laughed, lowering his last knife for a moment. “True.”

“And you.” Bruce was trying to be more complimentary, in a casual way. 

________

_“You know your children are talented, and skilled and have many good attributes, so be sure to point it out when you notice. Remember, everything doesn’t need to be some grand gesture, small things, frequently, is better.”_

________

“Me? I don’t think so. I’m much more of a by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of...person.” 

Bruce shook his head, watching the last knife come back up for his final throw. “I don’t believe that.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Dick paused, knife in the air, and looked at him, one eyebrow raised like he was waiting for a punchline to throw off his aim.

“You quite literally filled my shoes for a year. So no, I don’t believe you aren’t as prepared for the unexpected as I am.” 

Dick sputtered, incredulous, and dropped his arm again, the edge of the metal smacking the barrier he stood against. “Just because I wore the suit doesn’t mean I filled your shoes.” There was a hint of simmering anger under the words and Bruce was just lost enough not to stop himself from saying his next statement.

“Of course you did, I think you did an admirable job of it too.”

“Ok no, don’t-“ Dick set the final knife on the barrier and rubbed his hands over his face. Then he abruptly turned and walked away. 

Bruce, faltering in surprise, gave the game attendant an apologetic smile and went after him, dragging a white mesh bag of oversized stuffed animals as he went. 

“Dick?” He called after him but his steps only hurried more, traveling away from the stands and rides toward an open area with benches. The rain had stopped but they were all still covered in water droplets and Dick halted, suddenly, in the middle of the grass and turned on him.

“Please tell me that this was not some ridiculous, roundabout way for you to ask me to wear the cowl again.” He stared at the ground, hands on his hips and Bruce looked blankly back at him.

“What?”

“I told you I never wanted to be you.” Bruce was taken off guard, though he would never say. Mostly though, he could sense this was possibly coming to a head, and he had no idea why.

“I’m not asking you to Dick, I’m not - I meant it as a compliment, not as-however you’re taking it right now.”

“However I’m taking it?” He looked up then, eyes bright and angry. “That was the worst year of my life Bruce - and I wasn’t just - I wasn’t ok and you cannot compliment me on anything from that year ok? You don’t even know what happened for half of it.” Bruce blinked back at him, surprised by the force of his reaction.

“Dick...I don’t know...where this is coming from.” 

“Of course you don’t! Because you weren’t here!” He threw his arms out to the side and swallowed audibly before turning away again and marching back toward the benches as Bruce gaped after him. He almost got upset, wanted to snap back, _You don’t think I would have been here if I could?_ But he took a deep breath instead and followed after him.

He watched as Dick threw himself on a bench and crossed his arms and tried to think of the best way to calm the situation before it turned into an unexpected fight. Slowly, he lowered himself down next to Dick, setting the bag in the damp grass before them. He saw the unshed tears standing in his son’s eyes and did his best to gentle his voice when he next spoke.

“I’m sorry Dickie.” 

Dick tensed, and then immediately deflated, uncrossing his arms to press his face into his palms. “I don’t think you understand what it was like when you were gone.” He mumbled the words and Bruce clasped his hands between his knees and leaned forward to better face him.

“Probably not.” Bruce didn’t doubt there were a thousand different things he had missed, his heart ached for the lost time.

“I don’t think you’d be so proud of me if you did,” he spoke in a small voice as he finally let his hands drop. It hurt in an entirely new way.

“Dick. Of course I would be.” He watched his son sit there, saw the anxiety from before flare up when he closed his eyes and let out a hissing breath through his teeth. Bruce hadn’t meant for a carefree, fun day to end up like this, but he could tell it was right there, the source of whatever unease Dick felt around him over recent months.

“Dick, Chum...can you tell me what’s going on please? I...I can tell something’s been bothering you, for a while now.” He opened his eyes and looked at Bruce, tears still clinging to his lashes. There was something in his face like fear, but after a moment he took a deep breath and sat up slowly.

He squared his shoulders like he was bracing for something and then stared at the ground between his feet.

“I wasn’t enough Bruce. I wasn’t. So don’t say I filled your shoes, ok? Because I didn’t. I was floundering, and trying desperately to keep the family from disintegrating. And I did a really shitty job of it.” He shook his head, damp hair flopping in his eyes.

“I know I get angry when you question my ability to do things, but _fuck_ Bruce. It was beyond me. I should have been able to handle it, but I couldn’t. I fucked up.” Bruce had to resist the urge to immediately contradict him. He wanted to tell him, _Yes, you were. Dick you were enough._ But he knew it wasn’t really the point.

“Dick. I’m not -“ There were too many things to address and he struggled to pick which to bring up first, gripping his hands together tightly and resting his elbows on his knees.

“I am proud of you. Regardless of how you feel about what happened while I was away. You did not fuck up Dick, you did your best.” 

Dick sputtered for a moment. “See, this is what I’m talking about. You don’t know. You don’t even know. My best wasn’t good enough Bruce. It wasn’t even close.” His voice cracked on the last word and Bruce’s chest felt painful and tight. His breath constricted like an iron band was clamped around his lungs.

He gave himself a moment, looking out at the grassy area and the few scattered people walking down the pavement just beyond it. “Do you know how often I’ve been in that same situation?” Dick looked up at him, wiping a hand under one eye. “Do you realize how often my best hasn’t even been close to enough?” Bruce watched Dick’s eyes scan over his face, mouth a thin line.

“It was enough,” Dick said, barely above a whisper. “You were enough for me.” Bruce exhaled and shook his head.

“I wasn’t. Not always. Sometimes nothing is enough Dick. When you’re parents are gone...no one is enough. I know that, and you know that. It wasn’t your fault.” Bruce watched on as a few scattered tears fell, helpless with his hands clasped tight between his knees. 

“You don’t know the whole story.” Dick let himself curl forward, his back bowing with an unseen weight.

“I know more than you think.”

He’d gotten a good picture of things, from snippets from Tim, who would only say the bare minimum when asked and nothing at all without reason. He’d gotten what little Cass could tell him out of her, and he’d heard things from Damian over the past few months that gave him, he thought, a relatively clear idea of what had happened. 

Dick put his face in his hands and Bruce finally pried his apart and settled one lightly on Dick’s back. 

“Things look different when you look back on them Dick. Everything is clear in a way it never could have been at the time.” He felt him take a deep breath, ribs expanding against the palm of his hand before he swallowed.

“They both needed me and I feel like - I feel like I chose Damian and I didn’t mean to Bruce. I didn’t mean to do that, it’s not what I-“ He sat up suddenly, dragging a hand through his hair and tugging hard before he let it drop into his lap. “I really thought - I just thought he needed me more. It wasn’t because-“ Bruce watched as more tears spilled and he scooted closer across the bench and smoothed his hand over Dick’s shoulder blades. 

“Now I feel like everything’s different between me and Tim, and it’s my fault.” Bruce took a deep, careful breath and exhaled through his nose. 

He had been able to tell, when he came back, that their relationship had been strained. Enough that maybe it was what distracted him from the tension between Dick and himself. It had been the main reason, in the end, that he’d subtly collected the information instead of asking directly. Because it was obvious that something wasn’t right. Things had seemed better though, Bruce thought, and he tried to find a way to word his next question, as carefully as possible. 

“Have you...did you ever talk to Tim about it?” 

“No,” it came out on a burst of air. “How can I? Tim’s acting like it didn’t happen even though he’s obviously still-“ Dick swallowed, the skin beneath his eyes beginning to turn red and puffy, “He doesn’t trust me like he used to.” 

Bruce felt his throat go tight with tremendous sympathy. Bruce had made so many mistakes himself, he wondered if it was right for him to comfort Dick about this, but he _understood._ More than he thought anyone else was capable of. 

“I’m afraid to even bring it up,” Dick admitted, leaning almost imperceptibly closer, allowing Bruce to wrap his arm all the way around his shoulders. “We’re finally to a point where I feel like we can hang out again, like brothers. I don’t want to ruin it by dragging everything up again.” 

Bruce rubbed a hand up and down his arm, thinking through what he could offer in this. He had to be more than just a listening ear here. 

“I could be there, if you wanted. To...mediate, if you think it would help.” Dick shifted on the bench and turned to more fully face him, eyes wide in something like shock. 

“You would do that? You think you’re...” His eyes darted over Bruce, questioning as he dropped his voice like he was afraid of hurting his feelings with his next words, “You think you’re capable of doing that?” 

Bruce might have been a little stung, but it was a fair question. “Yes, I’ve...learned a few things in the last few months. About staying calm, and listening, and...taking the time to think about what I want to communicate and finding a way to put it into words.”

The stress in Dick’s face was painful to look at but there was hope there too, fighting to be seen. On impulse Bruce pulled him into a hug.

“For example, I’m very proud of you Dick.” Dick choked and made to pull back but Bruce just tightened his hold, bringing a hand up to press his head to his shoulder. “You did everything you could, and it was a lot. Damian and Tim weren’t the only ones struggling Dick. They weren’t the only ones who’d lost someone.” 

It felt strange, consoling someone about losing _him_ but he understood, and it needed to be said. “You were grieving too. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You can’t be...no one can be expected to be everything, all the time, to support everyone with everything they have. No one is capable of that Dick. You did everything you could, and that’s all anyone can ask.” He felt fingers dig into his shirt from behind and tightened his hold.

“I still hurt him.” The words were small, barely a whisper.

Bruce let out a slow, aching breath and swallowed. “Yes. Which is why you should talk.” He drew back, just a little, letting Dick pull away to wipe at his face with the neck of his t-shirt and so he could look him in the eye when he next spoke. “Trust me when I say, I am an expert at ignoring things when I shouldn’t, this conversation included. It will only make it worse. The longer you wait the more impossible it will feel to fix.” 

Dick nodded, still wiping at his eyes, and Bruce ran a gentle hand through his wet hair, slicking it back from his forehead, watching it fall right back in place. He was glad they could talk about this. Glad he hadn’t ignored it or turned it into a fight despite his own counterproductive instincts.

There was more to be said though, and Bruce pressed himself to continue. “I...I’m sorry that I put you in that position Dick. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, when Damian was so new and he needed so much, and Tim had just recently lost friends too. It wasn’t...it wasn’t fair.” Dick sat back, eyes puffy and sore looking, and gave him a tearful scowl.

“Shut up, like it was your fault. It wasn’t.” 

Bruce nodded. “I know, but I’m still sorry.” A couple more tears fell and Dick gave a frustrated grunt and swiped a hand under each eye. Bruce always felt helpless when Dick cried, even more so than the others sometimes. He didn’t know what it was, really, except that it reminded him of when Dick was small and Bruce was a ball of anxiety trying to figure out how to take care of this kid who was nothing like him. 

Bruce knew the sort of pressure that came with leading this family through tragedy. He had done a poor job of it on more than one occasion and he never wanted Dick to feel like that was all on his shoulders again. 

“I can’t make promises...that nothing like that will ever happen again.” Dick frowned but Bruce continued, still resting one hand on his son’s shoulder. “But I will do my best to stick around as long as possible. I don’t want you to...I don’t want you to feel like everything is on your shoulders again. Maybe we can...maybe I can talk to Clark.” 

Dick looked confused and wiped at his nose, sniffing hard. “About what?”

“About if...if something like it did happen again, if I was gone. I don’t want you to have to handle all of that on your own Dick. You should have support. I can...write something up, with Clark, or his parents. They could take Damian part time maybe, at least for a few months, until things...became a little more manageable.” 

Dick stared at him with wide eyes and Bruce worried he would burst into tears again at any moment before he wiped at his face one more time and said, in a watery voice, “God, I feel like you’ve gotten more out of therapy in two months than I did in two years.” 

Bruce was startled by the laugh that burst out of him. He couldn’t help the fond smile that followed before he dragged him in for another hug.

“I love you Dickie.” He didn’t miss the way Dick clung back to him. Bruce remembered being in the time stream, thinking about how much he’d missed when he was gone and how strong Dick was. But he was still so young. He was barely older than Bruce had been when he took Dick in and Bruce had been floundering intensely at that time in his life. Dick helped more than he could ever know and he wanted to make sure that he never felt like that. Like he was barely keeping his head above water, again. Not like Bruce had so many times before.

He felt guilty still, for waiting so long, for putting Dick through the longest bouts of his dysfunction. He was just so damn thankful for these kids who didn’t give up on him, who always gave him another chance.

Dick pulled back again and took a deep, full breath before looking at Bruce and cocking an eyebrow. “You know we still have a bunch of games left, and I am going to whoop your ass.” 

Bruce tilted his head. “You think so do you?”

“Yep, and we are going to be on the news carrying these monstrosities through the park.” With that, Dick stood up and grabbed for the mesh bag, now slightly muddy on the bottom.

“If we’re photographed carrying them through the park I can’t rightly display them. Sometimes I bring civilians back there, in emergencies.” Bruce stood up as Dick slung the bag over his shoulder. 

“Then I guess you shouldn’t lose.” Bruce settled his hands in his pockets, a weight he hadn’t realized was there slowly rising off his shoulders.

“I guess I won’t.”

  
  


*

  
  


He did. 

In the end he took home one giant Pink Flamingo, one enormous Tweety Bird, a colossal bean bag chair printed to look like a Panda, and the crowning achievement, one life sized Scooby Doo wearing a poor replica of the first Robin suit.

They had to strap Scooby to the hood of the car once he and Dick had somehow managed to cram the rest of them inside. Dick surveyed the damage and gave Bruce a glinting smile.

“If I don’t see these next time I’m at the cave I’m not gonna let you live it down.”

“You won’t anyway.” 

Dick snorted. “That’s fair. Hey I’ll let you get away without the panda chair, I bet Damian would put it in his room.” 

Bruce stared at the malformed face of the panda where the bag was stretched and shoved against the window in the backseat.

“....You think?” 

“Oh yeah, he’ll say all kinds of crap about how ugly it is and juvenile but it’ll be because he’s embarrassed by how much he likes it.” Bruce blinked in momentary surprise as he digested this. Dick fidgeted for a moment and Bruce looked at him, knowing there was more.

“Listen, um…” Bruce put his hands in his pockets, patient.

“I’m listening.”

“So...about Damian.” 

Bruce raised his eyebrows, wondering where this was going.

“I was wondering….I mean.” Dick huffed an annoyed breath and straightened his shoulders, giving him an almost stern look, annoyed by his own nerves it seemed. “When you came back, I didn’t want to step on your toes, with him. But I think it was a mistake for me to just…leave.” 

Bruce wouldn’t admit how much he had wished Dick had been there initially, to at least translate for the prickly boy that Dick apparently understood better than Bruce, most days. “Everything for him got turned upside down more than once, and I was so excited to get back to being... _me_ again I let it distract me from how he might be feeling.” His shoulders shrank again.

“That wasn’t your responsibility Dick, it was mine,” Bruce reassured but Dick shook his head. 

“Maybe not, he’s not my son but...he sort of was there for a while and- anyway, where I’m going with this is, I was thinking maybe I could start coming by more, and patrolling with you guys. Not all the time, just...to ease things better than we did before.” 

Bruce watched his oldest son, and the anxious expression on his face, and wondered if he was waiting for him to dismiss the idea, to pretend that he had it all in hand and that they didn’t need Dick like Damian used to, now that Bruce was back. Or worse, to minimize the role he played in Damian’s life while Bruce was gone. Or even vise versa. It did surprise him, a little, to hear Dick refer to Damian as a son but when he thought about it - it really shouldn’t. He remembered Dick’s reaction after the incident at the docks vividly. He’d been ready to take Damian away, if it came to that.

He wondered if he might have reflexively denied it all, in the past, and then regretted it thoroughly when it would have not only resulted in him struggling with his youngest just as much as always but also fighting with Dick. Who would get upset, inspite of his best efforts to stay calm, and be hurt by the implication that he wasn’t needed, or that his connection with Damian wasn’t as deep as it felt to him. 

But Bruce fought the inclination to deny the need for help. Something he worked on with his therapist too - another time he was reminded to be a good example for his kids.

And while Dick was his son, he was his oldest, a fully grown man now. Despite how hard that was to take some days. He had spent a year taking care of Damian and then suddenly Bruce was back and everything _‘went back to normal’._

It wasn’t just about Bruce. Damian surely would appreciate it - he knew he missed him each time he recounted a story from one of their patrols together with a barely suppressed smile. 

“I think that’s a good idea. You can patrol more with Tim then, too.” Dick looked a little surprised by this suggestion, and possibly more anxious, but he nodded eagerly. 

“Yeah, yes.” 

“Ok, let’s work out a schedule. Maybe Damian or Tim can patrol with you in Bludhaven too, so you don’t have to cross the water every time.” Dick finally relaxed and he looked at Bruce with an expression he wasn’t sure how to interpret, before going in for a hug, tight, intense, but short. He barely had a chance to return it before Dick was backing off again.

“Things are gonna get better from here,” Dick said, seemingly out of nowhere. But he said it with confidence and Bruce looked at him in a little bit of awe, at how hopeful he could be, how positive and at how much faith he had in Bruce even after everything. Bruce couldn’t speak in return for a moment, only nod, throat tight with undefined emotion. 

Dick’s smile softened, like he understood. “I’ll call you tonight, once I make it home. We can work up the schedule.” 

Bruce cleared his throat. “Yes. I’ll have my phone on me.”

Dick nodded, giving a little salute before he turned away and Bruce called after him, “Good night Dick.”

“Night B!” He waved over his shoulder and picked up into a jog, his car far away somewhere in the lot. Bruce took a moment to take a deep breath and look forward, for the first time, to his next session instead of being tense or nervous. 

This was progress, this was everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any non Americans or people who’ve never been to a fair, this is an elephant ear: https://images.app.goo.gl/r7Gs1MMASKqYFSgP8
> 
> I wasn’t entirely sure about this chapter as it’s a lot more deeply rooted in canon than some of the others that deal more with chronic personal issues than a specific event. But let me tell you I rewrote this chapter FOUR different times until I finally go this and was mostly happy with it. So I’m keeping it. I will make this family functional if I have to slap them together with brick and mortar!!
> 
> We’re finally near to the end here. Next chapter is Stephanie, and then just an epilogue as a lead in to the next fic in the series. A few people have asked me if Jason is going to have a chapter in this and the answer is no, but only because this fic is a lead in to the next in the series which is ALL ABOUT JASON. Not saying it will be your cup of tea, as the feel of it is decidedly different than this one, but I hope you’ll still check it out!


	6. Let the Doves Cry Out in the Streets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce does his level best with Stephanie, including referencing memes he knows nothing about, but there’s always a missing piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never expected Stephanie’s chapter to end up being the longest but...here we are. I hope I don’t bore you all in this one, I managed to cut out about 1k words after the first draft but I finally decided to just leave it as is and call it good.
> 
> Tiny hints of Batcat 🦇 🐈 but you could take them as past tense? I don’t really have Bruce in a relationship in this in my mind.

If things were different, Bruce knew that Jason, technically, should go next, if not a couple turns ago already.

He was the last one left if he only counted the kids who were legally his. Even then, technically...that might not count. Jason’s death would have rendered any parental rights inert. But he, at least at one point, had legally been Bruce’s son.

And while Bruce might fantasize about planning something with Jason, it mostly just hurt, for how poorly he knew it would go. He couldn’t think about it much. It was...there were things...he would need to talk to his therapist about, before he could ever get there with Jason. Other things would have to come first, he knew.

But there was one other kid that was on his mind.

Ever since Stephanie had come to him about Cass he had been thinking about it. She wasn’t his...but his therapist didn’t seem to think that mattered.

________

_“She might not be yours technically, but you mentor her, don’t you?”_

_“I...did, at one point, and it ended...poorly. I don’t know that I would say I do anymore. I certainly don’t think Stephanie would.”_

_Dr. Xie waved her hand like this was inconsequential._

_“She is close friends with your other children.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“She spends probably half of her time in your home?” She raised an eyebrow here, and Bruce mildly regretted, not for the first time, being so forthcoming in his sessions._

_“I would say so, yes.”_

_“She has a designated bedroom.” Her expression was flat, and rather unimpressed. Bruce stifled a sigh._

_“She tends to use a particular guest room, yes.”_

_“She is part of your team.” Bruce blinked, almost a little startled._

_“I...it’s not a team,” he said, suddenly derailed from the topic at hand. Dr Xie’s shoulders dropped and she gave him the most exasperated expression he’d seen on her yet._

_“Please, Bruce. You’re a bunch of bats and birds that all work from the same place, on a singular network, you share intel, you work on cases together, you patrol in pairs. You’re a team.”_

_Bruce was momentarily struck with surprise that she used all the correct terminology and then abruptly anxious that she knew so much before he shook the thought. A team...he would come back to that, another time._

_“If you must resist the label, fine. Whatever you are, she’s a part of it, isn’t she?”_

_“Yes.” Bruce could say this, at least, decisively._

_“You wish you had a better relationship with her?”_

_It wasn’t something that was ever talked about. Where his children might come to him when they thought he was being particularly stupid in regard to one of his other kids, they tended to avoid saying anything about Stephanie. He got the impression it was because she told them to stay out of it, more than for any lack of feeling on their parts._

_Stephanie wasn’t one to let others fight her battles and there would be hell to pay if anyone tried._

_Stephanie...she wasn’t his daughter, but he had made just as many mistakes with her as he had with the others._

_“I would.”_

_“Then do it.” Dr. Xie nodded and dropped a hand flat on her notebook with a decisive look. “This is about change isn’t it? About improvement. She’s the girl who got you into my office, maybe I’m a little biased, but I think she deserves some attention.”_

________

Bruce actually laughed when she said it, caught off guard enough to let it slip. But that was true too.

He wasn’t sure Stephanie had any desire to talk to him about any of the things that had happened between them over the years. She would joke around with him now, and seemed relieved, if he was correct in his observations, that he was still going to his sessions.

He also sensed that Stephanie was careful around him. She had been, ever since he came back from the time stream. Probably everyone else would think it was a ridiculous assessment. She was the one who screamed him into submission, in the end. 

But she was, in certain ways.

She was careful not to be too forthcoming. To never reveal much of herself. She was guarded. And he didn’t blame her. But he hoped he could put some of it to rest. Bruce wanted her to understand that...he was...thankful. If it weren’t for her he didn’t know how long it would have taken him to do this.

If he ever would have.

So he committed to the idea. Part of the obstacle with Stephanie wasn’t exactly an obstacle with the others though, except for perhaps Damian. Bruce suspected she might just be suspicious of the offer, or she might decided she didn’t want to be anymore involved with him than she already was and turn him down outright.

Which he would respect, if she did. But he hoped she would give him a chance. The thing was, he wasn’t sure what to do with her. 

Bruce knew things about Stephanie, like that she liked waffle houses and various junk food. She enjoyed bad action films and celebrity gossip. She was good with children and would get relatively invested in sports if someone was watching a game. She was highly competitive and motivated. He also knew now that she enjoyed painting her nails and braiding Cass’s hair.

He just wasn’t sure how to translate any of it into a bonding activity.

And so as before, he did his research. Just, a little differently this time. He didn’t have an amazing track record with Stephanie and he knew he was just as likely to offend her as he was to happily surprise her. He needed expert opinions.

**  
******

********

*

**  
**  
** **

Bruce found Cass and Tim in the middle of the afternoon sparring in the cave. Tim had begun coming over more. Of course Bruce didn’t miss that it was usually during regular school hours when it was guaranteed that Damian wouldn’t be there but Bruce might. He sat at the computer and waited until they took a break. 

They were a marvel to watch, as were any of them. But Cass and Tim both excelled in speed and watching the two of them spar was like watching a fight in fast-forward. When they finally broke away from each other and walked to their respective sides of the mats for water and a towel Bruce stood from his desk chair and slowly approached. He leaned against the railing at the edge of the training area and observed them both for a moment. 

Tim was sweating profusely while Cass had a few dark patches in her training clothes at her neckline and lower back. He only paused for a moment before Cass turned to him, sensing some unsaid words, and made a circular motion with her unoccupied hand as if to say, _get on with it._

Bruce blew out a soft breath as Tim wandered over, took a deep drink from his water bottle and gave him a questioning look. “Something on your mind, B?” 

“I...yes,”Bruce started, before stalling immediately. He frowned when Tim raised his eyebrows and Cass crossed her arms, looking amused. “I was...hoping for some advice.” 

Tim looked intrigued while Cass’s expression didn’t change. “Ok.” Tim glanced sideways at Cass before his eyes settled back on him. “Fire away.”

Bruce didn’t know why it was like this. It had been with every one of them so far. The thought of sharing his plans with anyone beyond the target felt somehow unnerving, as if there might be something about his ideas that were fundamentally flawed and he just hadn’t realized yet. 

But this was just part of it, of everything he’d been doing up to this point. While nothing he’d done at the advice of his therapist had so far gone completely perfect, it had all ended better than it began and Bruce held on to the slowly building faith that it would continue that way.

“I’d like to plan something,” he finally offered, “with Stephanie.” 

Bruce watched both of their faces closely. Tim’s eyebrows went on a steady climb up his forehead while Cass’s smile grew to three times its original size. 

“Yes,” she said with a sharp nod. Tim looked over at her, eyes hesitant, before they snapped back to Bruce once more.

“Um...what kind of...thing?” 

Bruce shifted in discomfort, leaning his hip into the railing and resisting the urge to avoid eye contact. “Something like what I did with each of you. Just a...an outing.” 

Cass nodded enthusiastically, pulling the towel from around her neck and tossing it in a laundry bin. 

“Oh.” Tim seemed stunned for a moment, like he didn’t know how to process the information and Bruce stood still and silent, unsure how to respond. “Uh...and what...was the advice, you were looking for?” Tim patted his face down with his own towel and Bruce took a breath and looked at Cass. She was practically beaming and Bruce kept looking at her as he spoke.

“I’m not sure what to take her to do. I’m...concerned I might make a poor choice. I wondered if the two of you might have some suggestions.” 

Cass looked immediately thoughtful and while Tim still seemed a little skeptical he did appear to consider the question seriously. “Have you thought of anything, so far?” he asked after a moment. Bruce rubbed a hand over his chin before responding.

“Roller skating, was a thought,” he admitted after a moment, earning him a surprised but pleased expression from Tim and Cass’s continual smile as she shifted from foot to foot. “I...didn’t have many other ideas.” 

Tim crossed his arms, letting go of the towel and letting it hang around his neck. “It’s not a bad one, she’d have fun...” He was looking down, like he was thinking, before his eyes slowly climbed back to Cass with a slow curl to his lips as something seemed to dawn on him. Bruce felt suddenly wary. “Cass, isn’t there a gala coming up?”

This simple question sparked a sudden wide eyed look of delight that almost made Bruce take the question back. He was too late however, because she had already turned back to him and signed, both hands held with splayed fingers drawn quickly down her front. _Dress._

“You take her shopping. Perfect.” 

“Shopping?” Bruce couldn’t help from asking, voice undeniably skeptical.

Tim looked amused more than anything and Bruce nearly yanked the towel off his shoulders just to smack him with it. 

“She’s been talking about getting a new dress for it. She usually drags Cass along but Cass hates it.” To this, Cass nodded eagerly. 

“Boring.” 

Tim snorted and ran a hand through his hair. Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. “Is this an actual suggestion or are you being funny.” Cass gave a faint laugh and covered her mouth before shaking her head as if to deny it.

“It’s real,” she said. “Stephanie loves shopping.” Tim still looked amused but did have the decency to give Bruce an honest answer.

“I mean, the thought of it _is_ amusing but...it’s...an actual suggestion. Cass and Babs don’t...commit to shopping like Stephanie and she doesn’t take me anymore since...” 

“Since what?” Bruce asked, wondering what possible horror story there could be involving shopping with Tim.

“Well...” He looked vaguely uncomfortable and rubbed the back of his neck. “We used to go sometimes, when we were...dating. Now it’s just...kind of weird.” Cass nodded sagely to this.

“And she needs money,” she added, looking back to Bruce. Tim recovered quickly and huffed a laugh.

“And that.” 

It was...not something he had been expecting. But that was the reason he came to them, because he didn’t know what to do. 

“I think it’s a good idea,” Tim said, in a much more neutral tone. “But I will caution...,” he hesitated a moment, “you can’t make it seem like any sort of charity. Make sure she knows it’s a gift from the beginning and it’s, say,” he shrugged, “a thank you, for something. She’ll take it better that way.”

What it would be a thank you for went unsaid. Bruce came around a little more to the thought. He tried not to think that it might be because it would be easier to get her a gift than to actually talk about any of it.

He talked to Cass over the next few days about what Stephanie needed and where she liked to shop but her general answer was to shrug or to point to an article of clothing she was currently wearing and indicate it was actually Stephanie’s. Bruce had never done a lot of shopping himself, minus a couple undercover missions and some particularly expensive dates. He wasn’t sure what a good place to go would be. Alfred was generally in charge of buying his clothes and they were mostly custom tailored to Bruce’s knowledge. All he had to do was visit a shop every now and then for fittings and then he’d suddenly have new clothing. 

But even with what little Bruce knew of Stephanie and the general experience, he didn’t think it would be what anyone had in mind by ‘shopping’.

“Sir,” Alfred said to him on morning, when he had been asking about local dress shops. “I believe miss Stephanie generally likes to go to the _mall._ Most young people do, to my knowledge.”

Bruce looked up from his coffee and newspaper with a pinched brow. “The mall? I was thinking something a little more...high end.” He didn’t want her to think that for some reason she was worth less, even monetarily, than the other kids. Alfred only smiled.

“Trust me Sir, the mall has plenty of expensive clothing and Miss Stephanie will be more comfortable there. And there will be a greater variety of options, I believe she likes many different styles. This way you will not have to walk halfway across the city in the wind and rain.”

Bruce considered, Alfred was the expert, and Bruce had no idea what else he would do.

“Alright, I’ll take her to the mall.”

Now he just needed to figure out how to ask her.

  
  


*

  
  


It was three days later, and Bruce was getting a headache trying to figure out his children. “I’m not doing that Tim.”

“You have to!” Tim was standing in front of him, hands clasped in a classic plea position while Bruce ate a banana midway through his training regimen. 

“Why do I have to?” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, recalling everything his therapist had yet told him about having patience. 

“Because I’m telling you, it’s foolproof. I thought about it and I couldn’t figure out a way for you to ask Stephanie without her blowing you off. Except this.” 

“That makes no sense,” Bruce whispered the words, completely exasperated. 

“No, it does.” Tim was nearly laughing through each sentence. “Trust me Bruce. Honestly, why would I sabotage you in this? Why would I do that?” 

Bruce looked at him. His eyes were pleading but his mouth was twitching up on the side.

“I don’t know, why would you?” Bruce asked, taking another bite of his banana. Tim snorted and Finally dropped his hands.

“Seriously, there are things at work in this, that you don’t understand. Stephanie will get it, she will think it’s hilarious, and she will go with you.” Tim took a step forward and actually put both hands on Bruce’s shoulders. “Do this for me. Please.” 

Bruce heaved a sigh and dropped his banana peel in the trash at the edge of the mats.

“Fine.”

  
  


*

  
  


Once again drawing on his tools as a vigilante Bruce had to lift Stephanie’s class schedule from her college. He took one of the more boring cars, reserved for when he wanted to keep a low profile. He dressed casually in jeans, a sweater, and a jacket paired with sun glasses and a hat. Bruce hoped he could avoid being recognized this time. If he really wanted to he could have worn a full disguise and put on a character and no one would ever know. But he wasn’t sure Stephanie would appreciate it and Bruce wasn’t inclined to put that much effort into hiding his identity for something so mundane. 

So instead he sat in his car, parked in a strategic location so he would see her when she came out, walking toward the bus station. He scanned the crowd of young adults wandering campus between classes and tried not to feel nervous for this. It was just like all the others, sort of. 

Which didn’t entirely help because he had been relatively nervous for those too. But they had all gone well in the end. Tim’s little suggestion though was making him possibly more apprehensive than normal. That and because of all of the kids Stephanie was probably the most likely to turn him down besides Jason. None of that mattered though, when he saw her signature purple beanie pulled low over her head as she dug through her school bag with one hand while the other held a to go coffee cup. It was now or never, and Bruce wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

He pulled smoothly into the pickup area of the lot, skillfully cutting off another car and taking its place at the curb, exactly in the path that Stephanie was walking. She glanced up at the motion in her peripheral vision just as Bruce rolled down the passenger side window. He lowered his sunglasses and made eye contact above the lenses. Stephanie froze.

Bruce, in his most flat, neutral voice, that Tim had thankfully said would be perfect because Bruce had no idea what he was doing, said,“get in loser, we’re going shopping.” 

Stephanie’s face twisted inexplicably, going through a myriad of expressions Bruce couldn’t name before she sputtered and fumbled her coffee. It hit the ground and burst open, spattering what was left over the sidewalk and her shoes. She swore under her breath and stooped to grab it before standing back straight and whipping her head around in every direction. “Are there camera’s? Who’s watching this?” she hissed.

Finally, with one more glance to the side she marched up to the open window looking baffled, but also like she might be fighting a laugh. She stuck her head in the window followed by her entire upper half to look into the back seat.

“Tim, I swear to God-“ she stopped, blinking at the empty seats. The bright expression she’d held up to that point faded and she looked at Bruce like she’d never seen him before. Bruce cleared his throat and swallowed.

“Get in, we’re blocking the pick up area.” People were, in fact, honking. Stephanie only blinked another couple times before she pulled back out of the car and waved impatiently at the person behind them.

“Shut up Gary, go around! There’s plenty of space!” When the only response was another honk Bruce heard her heave a sigh. Then she stuck her head back in the window and gave him a _look._

“Ok, what is this. Is he recording it?” She scanned the ceiling of the car and around the dash as if she was looking for a camera and Bruce held back a sigh. It so far wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped but it was about what he’d expected.

“It’s definitely possible. Will you get in the car so people stop staring?” There were multiple now. He didn’t think anyone would recognize him from the inside of his car with a hat and sunglasses but the attention still made him uncomfortable. Stephanie huffed and rolled her eyes but popped the door open obediently and slipped inside. She stuck her empty coffee cup in the cup holder and shook a few drops of milky coffee from her fingers into the open top before shoving the lid inside it, then stuffed her school bag and her purse at her feet.

Bruce rolled up her window as he pulled away quickly and made his way to the exit. Stephanie took off her hat, shaking out her hair and shoving the beanie in the top of her purse before she pulled out her phone and began texting. “Tim just thinks he’s real funny huh? Where are we going?” 

Bruce hummed noncommittally as he pulled out onto the street, knowing she was messaging him right at that moment. He had no doubt it would take some convincing for her to accept that Tim and Cass were not, in fact, behind this. At least not entirely.

He listened to her fingers tapping away at the screen as he flicked on the windshield wipers and tried to think up a game plan if she refused at this point. He wouldn’t want to just drop her at the nearest bus stop but he doubted she would want to stay in the car with him long enough to drive her home from here. He could force it, make her go to the mall, but he knew if Stephanie truly didn’t want to do this there would be no making her, and it would just aggravate things more.

Finally, after the third or fourth muttered grumble and an extended silence Stephanie dropped her phone to her lap and turned to look at Bruce with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Ok, where are you taking me?”

Bruce put his blinker on and waited in the turn lane for an opening and didn’t look at her. “I think I said that already.” 

Stephanie scoffed. “What? When? I was texting, I can’t listen and text at the same time.”

Bruce made the turn and slowly accelerated up a hill. “I said we were going shopping when I pulled up.”

Stephanie did a double take with a quiet sputter. “That was...you weren’t serious though.” 

Bruce did glance at her then, eyebrows drawing together the slightest bit. “How often do you think I joke?”

“How often- that was a meme. You realize that right? What you said? We’re going shopping? For real?” She crossed her arms over her chest, face highly skeptical.

“We’re going shopping.”

“Why?” This question, Bruce had been expecting. 

“There’s a gala coming up. Cass told me you wanted to get a new dress.” They slowed to a stop at a red light and Stephanie stared at him, mouth open for long enough that he finally turned his head to look at her.

“What is happening right now.” Bruce let out a very soft sigh and resisted pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I think we’ve been over this,” he said as he pressed lightly on the gas when the light turned green. The mall wasn’t far, and he hoped they would have finished the conversation by the time they made it there.

“No, no, we haven’t.” Stephanie pressed her phone between her thighs and gestured widely with her hands, palms face up. “You saying _there’s a gala, blah, blah, blah,_ doesn’t explain this.” 

Bruce took a deep, slow breath. He could see her expression souring the longer he took to formulate an answer. 

“I wanted...to thank you.” 

Stephanie faltered, her hands slowly falling back to the seat. “Thank me?”

“Yes.” Bruce nodded as he pulled into the parking lot of Gotham Central Mall.

“For what exactly?” Her tone was flat and Bruce sighed, again. It probably contributed to their particularly difficult relationship, but where Bruce was poor at communicating everything he meant, Stephanie wouldn’t take anything less than a complete answer.

Which was fair. It was fair of her to ask it of him, especially during what she probably considered a kidnapping. He wracked his brain for the right words. 

It was a slow improvement, Bruce’s handle on voicing his thoughts. He was finding it slightly easier the more he forced himself to do it, but the strategy so far of just - pushing out the words in whatever form he could get them to take seemed almost dangerous with Stephanie. He needed this to come out the right way or she would reject this entire thing.

“I...appreciate that...you put the effort into...talking to me.” About what, went unsaid, and he hoped, at the very least, she would let him leave it that way for once. “Even though I reacted poorly at the time.”

There was a backup in the lot and they inched forward towards the open spots, the inside of the car quiet but for the light rain pattering the roof. He glanced at her and found her sitting there with her arms crossed, watching him with a carefully blank expression.

“You did me a favor by giving me the benefit of the doubt...” Bruce swallowed as they finally were able to turn down an aisle. “And for making me think.” He went all the way to the end, pulling into the last open spot, furthest from the mall. He had no desire to fight for closer parking, especially not right now. He turned the car off and sat there for a moment, hand on the keys still in the ignition. 

“I’m glad I did it,” he said after a pause. There was so much he could say, but it was simultaneously too much and not enough. “I’m glad I started going. I want to...show my appreciation.” 

When he glanced back at her again she looked confused. “Ok. So pay for the dress, that doesn’t mean you have to take me shopping,” she muttered the words and shifted in her seat like she was possibly a little uncomfortable.

“I wanted to,” Bruce answered. It was very succinct and he half expected she would demand more detail again. 

Instead she just looked at him with a kind of stricken expression before she swallowed and gave a hesitant sounding, “ok.” A little wary even. Bruce didn’t wait for anything else, a tight ball of stress easing in the base of his chest. He gave a short nod and opened his door.

Stephanie followed him, leaving her school bag on the floor of the car and jamming her hat back on when they stepped out into the rain. She held her phone up again.

“I’m harassing Tim and Cass for not preparing me for this,” was her explanation. “I’m so not dressed for shopping, like my makeup is half melted off and my hair is a disaster.” With that she grinned, looking at her teeth in the reflection of her blank phone screen. 

Bruce wasn’t sure what any of that had to do with shopping and refrained from commenting, just glad they had made it there without incident. He was reluctant to rock the boat. It was around three in the afternoon and the mall was relatively crowded when they entered, holiday season being close at hand.

“Where would you like to start?” he asked as they walked down one of the main halls, shops lining the walls on either side. Stephanie stopped in her tracks and glanced at the signs above each door.

“I don’t know, usually I start with the cheap spots and work my way up if I can’t find something I like.” Bruce thought about this for a moment and then gave a short nod.

“Do you want to do it the other way around?” She snorted and gave him an amused look before it turned contemplative.

“Actually, hell yes.” 

  
  


*

  
  


Bruce was familiar enough with high end fashion to at least know some of the more expensive designers, but his knowledge didn’t end up being necessary as Stephanie had her own ideas. The start of things was a little strange, Bruce would admit, partially because he really wasn’t sure how to approach this particular activity.

The first store they went in was quiet and only had a couple other people inside, all women. The clothes were clearly high end and the staff remained quietly hovering in the background waiting to be beconed for help. Stephanie was browsing the few racks of dresses and Bruce was...awkwardly hovering near the door.

She kept glancing back at him and frowning and Bruce had no idea why, nor what he should really be doing. He passively glanced through some of the clothes and waited while Stephanie tried on a single dress that she handed back to the store associate when she was done. She glanced through the rack one more time, completely ignoring Bruce, before she gave a small shrug and walked out of the store with him slowly trailing after her. The second was much the same and Bruce began to worry that this would be the entire day if he didn’t figure out how to engage with her. 

Right up until the third store.

It was a name he recognized, something one of the super models he’d taken out once had released he was fairly sure. The clothes were finely made but all very plane and similar in design. Everything was also either black or white, and in an absent way, he didn’t really think any of it would suit Stephanie. 

The employees on shift were both tall, thin women with the same long, straight hairstyle and bored expressions. They glanced at the other customers but the older of the two kept a close eye on Stephanie, Bruce noticed almost immediately. He stood off to the side and watched as Stephanie felt the material of a black shift dress and the woman approached her. 

“We prefer you don’t touch anything unless you are actually considering purchasing,” she said in a rather scolding tone. Stephanie stopped, hand still on the dress, and cocked her jaw to the side before she turned and gave the woman a false smile.

“I am considering it.” with that she pulled the dress off the rack like she planned to try it on but the woman continued to stare at her and Stephanie stared right back, eyes challenging, before she finally raised an eyebrow and asked, “did you need something else?”

The woman scoffed and rolled her eyes and before Stephanie’s face went from incredulous to snarling Bruce stepped in.

“Stephanie,” he said, putting on his best Brucie voice and carefully removing his sun glasses as he stepped toward the two of them. The woman glanced at him and the wide eyed look of shock on her face was more rewarding than he anticipated. He put his sunglasses in his shirt pocket and glanced around the store with a small frown.

“I think this place might be a little stuffy for you, don’t you think?” He then glanced at the sales woman and gave a grimacing smile. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude.” 

Stephanie was giving him a narrow eyed look but then dragged her hat off again, flipped her hair over her shoulder and hummed as she gave the store another once-over.

“Yeah, B, you’re probably right. Not really my style.” She held the dress out to the woman, hanger balanced on her index finger, with a tight lipped smile.

The sales woman took it slowly, her mouth opening and closing a couple times like she was trying to think of a polite way to backtrack.

“Guess you were right, I shouldn’t touch,” Stephanie added as she turned toward the door.

“Oh um...have a nice day,” the woman said, voice subdued as they left together. 

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Stephanie sniped as soon as the swinging door had shut behind them.

Bruce nodded and tried his best to sound as sincere as possible when he said, “yes, you can.” 

Stephanie turned around to look at him when he didn’t elaborate as they went down the main walkway, her arms crossed and purple hat clutched in one hand. She huffed and rolled her eyes but let her shoulders drop a bit. 

“I’m hungry,” she declared a moment later. “Dealing with snotty, hoity-toity rich ladies who think they’re better than me requires fuel.” 

“Alright,” Bruce said, not entirely sure how to respond to the rest of the sentence. That was probably another reason he didn’t have more of a relationship with Stephanie, she was always saying things he didn’t know what to say back to. Not that she was the only one. 

There was a pretzel place tucked between a store that sold expensive skin care products and a Starbucks and they stopped there. Stephanie got a cup of mini pretzels with a side of cheese sauce and mustard and a large Diet Coke while Bruce got a cinnamon sugar pretzel and a lemonade. They took one of the tables in the small seating area and Bruce, once again, felt more awkward than anticipated.

Stephanie was staring at him while they ate. To an extent that he didn’t even think she was trying to hide it and he was stuck, not knowing whether it would be better to ignore or to acknowledge it. He pulled out his phone and found a message from Tim.

 _Tim:_  
_How’s it going?_

Bruce didn’t know how to reply, feeling an odd sort of disappointment. It wasn’t that it was going poorly exactly...just not very well.

He glanced up from his phone and made eye contact with her, she was still unashamedly staring at him while taking a long sip of her coke. Bruce gave a sharp sigh. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She shrugged and set her soda down, popping a pretzel bite in her mouth. “I’m just still trying to figure this out.” 

Bruce frowned and Stephanie gave an impatient shake of her head. “I don’t expect you to just follow me around this whole time. I figured I would pick some dresses, make sure you don’t hate them and get one and be done. Like, you can go do whatever you want and I could just call you when I find something, get it and get gone.”

Bruce wasn’t sure how to respond exactly and took a moment to speak.

“That’s...not what I intended but...if it makes you uncomfortable for me to accompany you, I don’t have to.” He supposed, feeling a little flattened, that getting her a gift would be better than nothing. But Stephanie released a soft breath and looked briefly unsure.

“That’s not what I meant, just...” She stared at her pretzels before letting her shoulders slump a little. “It’s fine, nevermind.”

And the awkward silence returned. Bruce was floundering. Not that he expected this to be painless exactly, but he was hoping it wouldn’t be quite so...difficult. He wracked his brain for an idea, something to shake off the skeletal feel of the conversation. Had he talked to his therapist about this possibility? He couldn’t quite remember, but something from his last session did occur to him.

________

_“Stephanie and I don’t have a lot in common. There isn’t a lot to...relate to, and I’m not sure she would entirely appreciate it if I tried.”_

_Dr. Xie looked at him for a moment like she was trying to figure something out._

_“Gaining a deeper relationship with someone,” she said slowly, “or a deeper understanding, does not require having things in common. There are plenty of people who are complete opposites who still maintain good relationships.”_

_Bruce knew that, he did, but he wasn’t sure how to gain it in his own life, or this particular situation._

_“You do not need to make a connection based on shared life experience already passed, it can just as easily be based on shared experiences now. It could be based entirely on whatever activity you end up doing. The important part of this, I think, is to make sure you are engaged, and participating. Don’t be a passive observer trying to find the ideal conversation topic. Just get involved, and it’s likely things will build from that organically, without so much forced interaction.”_

________

Bruce hadn’t entirely understood what she meant at the time, and he wasn’t sure he did even now. The entire thing felt a bit like a forced interaction but he could recognize, belatedly, that so far he had not been very involved. No, instead he had simply followed Stephanie around from store to store and watched her shop. He could see why it would make her uncomfortable. 

He just wasn’t entirely sure how to be a more active participant. 

He cleared his throat a moment later, pulling off a piece of his pretzel with methodical movements. “What exactly, are you looking for?” 

Stephanie gave him a skeptical look as she leaned back in her chair. “A dress, which I think was already established,” she said in such a particular tone he was sure she was mocking his earlier statement. 

“What kind of dress?” Bruce asked, ignoring the sarcasm. “I could help you find something.” 

Stephanie raised an eyebrow. “Because you know so much about women’s formal wear.” 

Bruce gave a small shrug. “I don’t know, I’ve seen a lot of fashion shows, and dated more than a few super models.”

“And you talked to them about clothes.” The skepticism was not easing up.

“I took them shopping sometimes. It was generally an interest of theirs, it would be rude to act like I didn’t care.” At this, Stephanie made a highly amused face.

“Because you’ve always been so careful not to be rude.” She gave him a flat look as she took the last, slurping drink of her soda. Bruce returned the look, unimpressed, and oddly enough, found himself leaning into the conversation. If nothing else, he and Stephanie could verbally spar with the best of them.

“You might also remember a few outfits I had a hand in designing. You’d be familiar with them.”

Stephanie remained similarly unimpressed. “I mean, a dress with body armor would be totally badass but that’s not really what I’m going for.”

Bruce leaned forward and took one of her pretzel bites, popping it into his mouth. “Then tell me, please, what are you looking for?”

She made a face at the theft of her pretzel and then rolled her eyes, releasing a long, drawn out sigh before she finally sat up straight. “Alright, if we’re doing this I might as well commit.” 

She pulled her phone from her back pocket and took a moment to navigate to something, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Ok,” she said when she found it, “this is sort of what I’ve been thinking.” She leaned over the table to show him a few saved photo’s that he studied with a sharp eye. 

Most of them went to just above the ankles, with a tube skirt and loose fitting, draped top. A couple had rouching up the sides, and one was a one shouldered top with an asymmetrical hemline. All of them looked to be made of a jersey or stretchy material and had a distinctly pastel color scheme. 

“I mean it doesn’t have to be just like these, I could never afford- I mean, these are just ideas, I’m open minded, I guess is what I’m saying.” Bruce glanced up and noted the slightly pink tint to her cheeks like she suddenly felt self conscious. He nodded.

“Ok, I’m sure we can find something.” 

She drew her phone back slowly, eyes flitting over his face before she finally seemed to relax for the first time since he’d picked her up. She nodded to herself for a moment, dragging a pretzel bite through cheese sauce aimlessly, shoulders loosening more and more as the seconds passed. She took a bite and looked back up at him.

“Ok, I have to say this. As mentioned, I can take care of myself, but the expression on that woman’s face when you dissed her store was priceless.” 

Bruce huffed a breath through his nose, not quite holding in the smile he could feel coming on. 

“I wish I had money so I could make other rich people feel like shit about themselves,” she said it in an airy tone that had Bruce choking back a laugh as he took a drink of his lemonade.

“Oh?”

“Hell yes, can you even imagine?” 

“I don’t know that I want to.” 

Stephanie hummed in response, nodding sagely. “You’re probably right, the power would go to my head. Hey,” she said suddenly, pushing her pretzels out from in front of her and leaning both elbows on the table. “You mentioned super model girlfriends, how many have you had, exactly?”

Bruce blinked back at her, thrown by the subject change. “I don’t...” He shifted in his seat, wondering how she managed to flip to something that would make him uncomfortable so fast. He was sure it was on purpose. Her eyes widened as the pause in conversation lengthened and she drew in a delighted sounding breath.

“You don’t even know do you? That’s scandalous B. I know you’re known for being Gotham’s resident eligible bachelor but love is no game.” She shook her head solemnly, chin resting on the tops of her folded hands. 

“I never called them girlfriends,” Bruce finally managed to interject. “We went on dates, usually only one.” 

“Oh so you play the hard to get game huh? I mean it makes sense, considering the lady loves I know about. You’re either hard to get or you end up dead. It’s the chase isn’t it? Was it like, ‘wow, he’s actually difficult to kill, I’m interested’?”

Bruce closed his eyes. “Stephanie.” 

“I’m honestly curious. I mean for as much of a disaster my love life has been, yours is on a whole ‘nother level.” When he opened his eyes again she was grinning and playing with her straw. 

“Don’t look so defeated Bruce, you signed up for this.” 

He released a sigh. “I did, didn’t I?” 

“Honestly, I don’t know what you were thinking.” 

They all taught him patience, but Stephanie might be a special case. She somehow existed on an entirely different playing field. It was what patrolling with her used to be like, he remembered. Constant chatter. Bruce had never minded, it reminded him of Dick and Jason both and he missed that sometimes. 

Though of course he still enjoyed patrolling with Damian and Tim respectively. 

Thankfully he had become something of an expert at letting the teasing go with nothing more than a long suffering sigh. It honestly, in an odd way, put Bruce more at ease, like a previously unrecognized signal that things were ok between them. 

  
  


*

  
  


The next shop they came to was more relaxed. There was pop music playing over the speakers and the entire store was decorated in bright colors and patterns. An older woman with thick glasses greeted them when they walked in and introduced herself as Greta. All in all it felt much more welcoming than the last place. 

Stephanie began to browse, and this time, Bruce did too. He looked for jersey knits, stretchy fabrics with draped silhouettes, modern cuts, and on the longer side. He found a couple options within a few minutes and handed them off to Greta to put in a fitting room. Stephanie watched him with an indecipherable look but didn’t say anything when she added her choices to the room and went in to try them on. 

“I’m creeped out, but unsurprised that you already know my sizes,” she called a moment later from behind the large curtain covering the doorway. Bruce resisted sighing for the thousandth time that day while he tried to see if Greta had overheard the comment. He couldn’t tell by her face but put his sunglasses back on, just in case. 

Bruce went back to browsing the dresses, seeing if they had missed anything worth trying while he waited. It took a few minutes and Bruce pulled his message back up from Tim to reply.

 _Bruce:_  
_It’s going well, I think._

Finally, Stephanie called from inside the dressing room, “alright, I need an opinion.” She threw open the curtain and stepped out, hands on her hips. “Does this make me look fat?”

Bruce just squinted at her from behind his sunglasses, unresponsive until she busted up laughing and said, with tears in her eyes, “never mind, never mind, your _face.”_ She sobered quickly and turned towards the large mirror on the wall behind her with a deep breath. “I actually really like this dress, and one other one and I can’t decide.” 

The dress she had on was a light pink, sported a fitted skirt with rouching up one side, a cinched in waist and a blousing top with spaghetti straps and a low neckline. “I have no idea which one to choose.” She bit her lip and Bruce blinked back at her. Greta walked up then, thankfully, and offered her assistance. 

“The best way to choose, is to put the whole thing together, accessorize, get yourself in party mode to see what it’ll actually look like. I’ll grab you some shoes and jewelry.” She was off and back in barely a moment, a pair of strappy heels handing from one hand and a midsized jewelry box in the other.

“Here, slip these on.” She set the shoes on the ground and Stephanie slipped them on while Greta opened the jewelry box. She offered a set of costume jewelry, a fake diamond bracelet and matching necklace with a single tear drop shaped stone. 

“Do you have something to put your hair up with?” She asked while attempting to fasten the bracelet on Stephanie’s wrist.

“Oh, um, in my purse...Bruce, can you dig through my bag for a hair tie?” 

“Excuse me?” Bruce stood with his hands in his pockets, watching this all with a sudden wariness. Stephanie looked up at him, eyes questioning while she attempted to fasten a shoe strap with one hand while standing. 

“Can you get my purse out of the dressing room and get a hair tie out of it?”

“Is this some sort of test?” He asked, while slowly moving toward the room. Stephanie snorted.

“A test. Why? Are you afraid you’ll come across a tampon or something?” Greta coughed and Bruce paused, making eye contact with Stephanie over the woman’s head. 

“Yes, I’m terrified of that.” Stephanie faltered, letting out a startled laugh and dropping her one raised foot back to the ground.

“It’s not a test,” she laughed out, “there’s nothing secret in it, I promise, but there’s bound to be about a thousand hair ties and bobby-pins floating at the bottom.”

“Hn.” Still wary, Bruce ventured into the room and took her bag back out so he could be visibly seen rifling through its contents. He wouldn’t put it passed her to accuse him of taking something out of it or planting something in it later. 

True to her word, the bottom of the bag was littered with hair bands and pins, a few barrettes, along with food crumbs, crumpled up receipts, a few loose ibuprofens, some spare change, and a number of chewed pieces of gum pressed inside their wrappers. He gingerly pulled out a hair tie and two Bobby-pins and brushed his hand on his pant leg.

“You should clean this out. It’s worse than Tim’s bedroom.” 

“Ha. Doubt it.” She reached a hand out and took the items just as Greta stepped back from fastening the necklace behind her. In a quick, practiced motion she pulled her hair into a high ponytail and wrapped it around the hair tie, pinning it in place to make a neat bun. “Ok, we’re in business.” 

She spun back to the mirror, hands on her hips, and inspected the results. 

“Bruce, will you take a picture and send it to Tim and Cass?” She looked at him through the mirror and he nodded, pulling out his phone. He held up it up and waited for her to turn back around.

“It fits you very nicely,” Greta added while Stephanie turned in a circle, trying to get a look at it from every angle. 

“Thanks.” She paused, staring at herself from the front. “I’m gonna try on the other one again.” She rushed back into the dressing room and Bruce watched the sales woman straighten a line of hangers while still holding Stephanie’s purse. Replies came in from Tim and Cass a split second later.

 _Tim:_  
_That looks great!_

_Cass:_  
❤️ 

“They both like it.” Bruce called to Stephanie. 

“Of course they do, it’s beautiful,” she said just as she opened the curtain again. “But so is this one, damnit.”

Greta laughed as she turned back to them. “That is a lovely color on you. I always think lavender is very flattering, it gives you a nice tan.” 

This one had a skirt that hung straight with a slit just above the knee on the left side and a blousing top with sleeves that dropped to the elbow like a cape and reminded him of something very Grecian. Both dresses were made in a jersey material with a nice weight and comfortable stretch to them. 

Stephanie grumbled while looking in the mirror, adjusting one of her bobby-pins, “I do love purple.” She stared at it for another extended moment, twisting back and forth and making the skirt flare out with the movement. 

“Ok, another photo.” She spun back to Bruce who dutifully snapped a picture and sent it off with the other one. “Man, I love this bracelet,” she said just after he sent the text, stretching her arm out in front of her and admiring it. 

“It looks beautiful with the dress, very classic,” Greta added, standing next to Bruce. “Don’t you think?” She turned to look at him and Bruce hesitated.

“Oh, um, yes. It...looks nice.” Stephanie glanced back at him with an amused smirk and took a small walk to the back of the store and back, testing the movement while they waited for the reviews from Cass and Tim.

“You’re the one footing the bill, what do you think?” She asked when she came back to stand in front of the mirror. 

“I think they both look nice on you, and this is a gift, so it should be whichever one you like best.” She hummed noncommittally in response and spun once in front of the mirror, watching the way the skirt flowed out and resettled with a slight smile on her face.

Bruce could tell, in that moment, that Stephanie was actively enjoying this, and felt himself relax a little more, even while holding her purse slung over his shoulder. 

“Hey, you said you’ve taken dates shopping before.” 

“...yes.” Bruce said, eyeing the sales woman again while she went about her other duties. 

“You ever take Selina?” She rested her hands on her hips and raised her heels a little higher off the ground than the shoes did. 

Bruce snorted, louder than he intended. “No.” Stephanie’s heels hit the ground again and she gave him a curious look through the mirror, where he stood a ways behind her.

“She wouldn’t appreciate my opinion.” 

Stephanie gave a short laugh, fiddling with the flouncing sleeves.

“Besides,” Bruce added, “I like everything she wears.” 

Stephanie made a face, nose scrunching up. “That’s...actually sweet.” 

Bruce huffed. “You sound mad about it.”

“It’s warping my picture of you, I don’t know how I feel about it. Have they replied yet?” 

Bruce dutifully checked his phone.

 _Tim:_  
_They’re both pretty, but I think I like the first one better._

 _Cass:_  
❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜 _this is best_

“Tim likes the first one, Cass likes the second one.”

“Damnit.” She gave a soft stomp on the wood floor and frowned at the mirror.

“Is either of them more comfortable than the other?” Bruce asked, trying think what might matter to him when picking clothes. He didn’t generally have a lot of opinions other than what things he found ugly, and what things he found comfortable. If it wasn’t ugly, or embarrassing then beyond that he judged everything by a specific set of practical standards.

Stephanie hummed in contemplation.

“They’re both pretty comfortable...stretchy, nice movement.” She sat down on a small bench to the left of the fitting area and bent towards her toes. “Yeah I can stretch pretty far in this. Didn’t test it in the other one...” 

“Do you think you’d wear either of them again?” She looked at him, eyebrows tilted up in the middle as if she was concerned for his intelligence.

“Maybe to another gala. I’m not invited to a lot of black tie events, if you haven’t noticed.” Bruce resisted rolling his eyes, it was a fair enough statement he supposed. 

She went and pulled the first dress out of the room again, holding it up in front of her in the mirror. “Ugh, why is this so difficult?” She suddenly spun around to face him. “You really have no opinion?” 

“I...” Bruce honestly thought they both looked nice, and he didn’t hold very many strong opinions about dresses in general but he didn’t think that would be much help. “I think you should choose whichever one you feel more comfortable in.” She made a face at him in response, eyebrows and nose scrunching up with a frown.

“They’re both comfortable, I already said that.”

“That’s not really what I meant...which one...feels more like you?” 

Her face relaxed slowly and she blinked a few times in thought before turning back to the mirror. 

“I have always felt my best in purple...” she mumbled it under her breath but Bruce still heard and had to stifle a smile. He watched her for a moment, staring at her reflection, the gears turning inside her head before she gave an abrupt nod and looked at him in the mirror. 

“Alright, I think that does it, oh Wise One. I’ve made my choice.” 

Bruce gave a curt nod in return. “Alright, perhaps you can take this back then.” He swung her bag out toward her while she rolled her eyes and snatched it back.

“Ok, let’s do this!” She seemed genuinely excited for a moment and Bruce felt immensely, gratefully, relieved that this was going how he’d hoped, even if it took a bit to get there. 

Bruce passed on the news to Cass and Tim while Stephanie changed back into her clothes and returned the jewelry and shoes to their respective boxes. Then he walked her up to the checkout stand when she came back out, the dress very carefully draped over her forearm. 

“Oh, I see you went with the lavender. It is a beautiful color.” Greta greeted them again at the counter as she carefully took the dress from Stephanie and hung it on a rack next to the check out stand. 

“Yeah, that’s kind of what sold it in the end.” Stephanie chattered back to her, bright and happy, and Bruce relaxed into it, feeling distinctly like the ignored father taking his daughter shopping for a school dance. He shook his head. That was not - he was going to pretend the thought never occurred to him.

Greta rang up the dress and Bruce paid while they continued to chat as she wrapped the dress in a bright red garment bag and zipped it down the front. 

He wasn’t paying close attention to their conversation, or much of anything, as he entered his PIN number and signed the digital card reader but he sensed a distinct shift in mood as soon as the woman handed the dress over to Stephanie. The garment bag was neatly folded in half and inside a matching red bag with rope handles that Stephanie took with a brittle smile and an awkward laugh. Greta thanked them for their business and wished them a good day as they left and Bruce watched Stephanie closely, wondering what exactly had transpired in the last two minutes that he had missed.

“Is everything alright?” It was too much to ask for things to continue smoothly, he supposed.

“What? Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t it be?” Except that Stephanie wasn’t looking at him and if there was ever a sign of lying he was staring right at it. She cleared her throat and hung the bag on her elbow so she could reach up and tug her hair out of the bun she’d had it in.

“Anyway, I guess it’s time to call it a night, eh? Mission accomplished.” 

They reached a fork in the hallway and Bruce snagged the handle of her shopping bag, stopping her from heading back toward the car.

“Not quite, I’m told shoes, and jewelry are also imperative to this outfit.” He was trying to lighten whatever funk had suddenly fallen over her her, thinking the idea would be exciting to her. But instead Stephanie looked at him with an incredulous, almost offended expression.

“Excuse me?” 

Bruce paused, thinking the situation over, trying to tiptoe around whatever issue had cropped up except that it was nearly impossible when he didn’t even know what it was. Something about him buying this for her, he would hazard to guess, had made her uncomfortable. 

“It’s a gift Stephanie,” he finally said, tone neutral, trying to be placating without sounding like it. “It’s just an outfit.” 

Her face twitched. “Just an-“ There was the briefest flash of upset in her expression before she cut herself off with a clack of teeth and short breath through her nose. She pulled the bag straps out of his grip and turned back toward the way they had come. “Yeah, whatever, it’s just an outfit,” her words were quiet and flat and Bruce was at a loss.

Things were going fine. Nothing had happened. But here they were, Stephanie was clearly unhappy about something but seemed disinclined to say why and Bruce was reluctant to press. Instead he cleared his throat as he matched her pace.

“There’s a jewelry store at the next corner I thought we could check out.” 

“Sure,” She clipped back. Bruce was quiet, itching to text Tim and ask him what was going on but knowing what he did of the both of them it was just as likely that Tim would be lost too. Cass might know, but she wouldn’t be able to explain it to him in a way he would understand, especially not over text. 

It was frustrating, the blind spots he still seemed to have with Stephanie. 

Her pace seemed to increase with her souring mood and she drew just a little ahead of him, ducking into the store before he could and leaving him to catch it before it swung shut in his face. Undoubtedly, there would be a reasonable explanation for this, but Bruce was finding it difficult to comprehend in the moment and growing a little agitated himself. 

“Hello.” An elderly man greeted them as the door chimed behind Bruce and he took a deep breath and put on a smile. “What can I help you with today?” He glanced between him and Stephanie and she fiddled with the strap of her shopping bag and chewed her lip, looking around the store. 

“We,” Bruce began, looking at Stephanie as he spoke, “are looking for something to go with a dress for a party.” 

Stephanie nodded, tight lipped and decidedly not looking at him. 

“Oh wonderful, is that the dress?” the man asked, gesturing to the bag in Stephanie’s hands. “May I see it? Just to get a look at the fabric.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” She walked up to the brightly lit glass counter and set the bag down, carefully unzipping the garment bag inside it and showing off a swatch of the light purple fabric.

“Oh that’s lovely. And how is the neckline, is it high or low?”

“It’s um, high-ish.” Stephanie rubbed the back of her neck and Bruce stepped forward, deciding the best option, at this point, would be to ignore it and act normal. If she needed to say something, she would. She had never been one to hold back.

“I have a photo,” Bruce said, holding out his phone.

“Oh, perfect. Oh my, that is a beautiful dress, must be some party.” He raised his eyebrows when he glanced up.

“Yeah, some party.” She mumbled, looking down at the glass case in front of her.

“Well, I think there are some wonderful sets I could show you that would look perfect with that dress, but first, do you know what type of style you like? Is there a particular stone, or cut of stone? Do you prefer silver or gold?”

Stephanie looked up, blinking like a camera flash had just gone off in her face. “Uh...I don’t know? I’ve never really worn fancy jewelry...” She looked uncomfortable, and Bruce got the feeling she was questioning her entire involvement in this and while Bruce might not carry a great love for jewels, he’d been around (and chased after) Selina enough to know a bit about them. Plus things had improved earlier when he was more involved. Bruce glanced through the cases, organized by stone and color, until he spotted one particular thing that caught his eye.

“What about that?” he asked, pointing to a bracelet toward the back of the main display. The old man shuffled to the side and peered down with furrowed brows while Stephanie stayed where she was, looking over at them. 

“Oh, that is a beautiful one, and the matching set would look wonderful with the dress I think. Here, I’ll pull it out.” He went about deftly unlocking the case and took the bracelet and set it on the counter where Stephanie could clearly see it and she gaped.

“Are those freaking diamonds?” The clerk glanced up, bushy eyebrows raised at her incredulous tone.

“...They are, yes.” He looked to Bruce then, like he was confused. Bruce didn’t look at him though, too intent on staring at Stephanie who looked like she couldn’t decide how to feel.

“I thought it looked like the bracelet you tried on earlier. You liked it.” Her eyes snapped to him and she scoffed.

“No.” 

Bruce frowned, resting a hand on the polished counter top. “Why is that a problem?“ He sensed it had something to do with the money but he didn’t really understand why. They had already agreed at the beginning to start at the most expensive places and work their way down. It was almost the point. Bruce had offered and she had accepted and the sudden backpedaling was throwing him off completely.

“Uh,” She gave him a flabbergasted face, “beyond the fact that people are going to think I’m your latest _fling,_ it’s just too much Bruce. It’s too much money, no way.” 

Bruce’s brain snagged hard on the latest fling comment, a record screech in his head. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“It is not ridiculous,” Stephanie said, misunderstanding and offended, “you already spent two _thousand_ dollars on the dress for crying out loud - which, is just-“ she made an incredulous face.

“That’s not what I was-“ Bruce shook his head, glancing at the store clerk and making a split second decision. “Let’s talk outside for a minute.” 

Stephanie rolled her eyes but still gave the old man an apologetic smile before she picked up the shopping bag and followed Bruce out of the store. He glanced around and spotted an empty hallway leading back to an employees only door and ducked inside it. Stephanie followed but at a reluctant distance until they were midway down it and alone. Bruce turned to face her.

“Alright, what’s the problem?” He asked, regretting the tone and the choice of words immediately. Stephanie stiffened, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“What’s the-?” If she looked offended before, it was nothing compared to the flare of indignation in her eyes now. “God, I know it’s _just money_ to you, like it doesn’t freaking matter and you can just throw it at whatever the hell you want to make your problems go away but you can’t just - you can’t - _buy me off_ ok?”

It was Bruce’s turn to gape. “That is- I told you, I’m trying to show my appreciation-“ He struggled to keep the mounting frustration out of his tone but it was impossible when she wouldn’t even let him finish a sentence.

“Then freaking get me a Starbucks card! This is not that!” She threw her arms out to the sides, swinging the bag through the air like a weapon. Bruce pulled his sunglasses off, folding them with precisely the correct amount of pressure to avoid cracking the lenses. He didn’t speak. He tucked the glasses into the pocket of his jacket and he waited.

“And you know what- you do this kind of thing with Tim and Cass too, you can’t just buy them things like it makes up for the other stuff.” Bruce oddly, felt as though he was watching the conversation from above, wondering what the hell had happened. Things had been going _well._

“Stephanie,” he finally interjected, when she paused to take a breath. He could not get upset in return. He couldn’t. He knew that from a myriad of conversations he’d already had with Dr. Xie, and from personal experience. He had to keep his frustration in check. 

He took a single deep breath and watched her carefully to see if she would continue in a rant or not. When she remained silent he began to speak. He kept his voice quiet on purpose and avoided crossing his arms. “I wanted to do this for you, so that at the gala you wouldn’t feel like you stuck out. I know how those people are, and how they treat you based on nothing but what you’re wearing and I wanted you to feel like you were with us, a part of the group. Not just a last minute addition, or a tag along.” 

Her shoulders dropped but she still snapped back, “you mean like now?” 

She was scowling and Bruce didn’t know what to say because he just didn’t know where she was _coming_ from with this. It was like the amusement park all over again. 

“I’m not stupid, I can see the pattern. Each kid gets a turn and then there’s _me._ The little add on at the end, probably a stand in for Jason, the one who won’t answer your calls. I get it, you’re not my dad and I-“ Abruptly, her voice choked off and she swore under her breath and turned away. 

Bruce blinked back at her, stung, but equally if not more so - alarmed.

 _“Stop it, fucking stop it,”_ She hissed under her breath, dropping the shopping bag to the ground and pressing her palms to her eyes. Bruce didn’t think he was meant to hear it and he hesitated, watching her hunched posture and the way she avoided facing him. 

Very carefully, he raised a hand and attempted to put it on her shoulder. _“Don’t,”_ she flinched and he drew back immediately, a spike of concern shooting through him. She made a frustrated growl in the back of her throat and turned to face the wall, letting her head fall forward until it hit with a soft thud.

“Stephanie...” He said her name finally, carefully. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose and stepped back, wiping both hands over her face. When she looked at him her eyes were red rimmed but dry.

“I know it’s different. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that about Jason, it was a dick move. We can go back inside and you can buy me a freaking expensive bracelet.”

She was obviously embarrassed going by the way she avoided his eyes. She tried to step around him then and head back to the store but he stepped in her way instead and took her by the shoulders, holding her in place. There was always something. There was always something Bruce was missing and with some of the kids the pieces tended to be bigger than others. 

He’d never had a good track record with Stephanie but there were certain things he understood, and it always hurt to find he had contributed in some way to her insecurities. 

“I want to rephrase,” he said quietly. She stared resolutely to the side to the point that he had to lean his upper half so far over to get her to look at him he nearly grabbed her chin and turned her head. Finally though, she flicked her eyes up to meet his. 

“I took you here because Cass said you like to go shopping, I thought you would have fun, it wasn’t just to spend money on you. It wasn’t an afterthought, or an attempt to buy you a gift instead of spending time with you. This was supposed to be both.” 

Her eyes darted away again and she grimaced before dropping her head into her hands once more. “Shut up,” she grumbled, the words muffled into her palms. 

“Will you tell me the real reason you’re upset Stephanie.”

“Because I’m a freaking jerk,” she growled, dropping her hands again. 

Bruce gave a helpless sort of sigh but didn’t let her go, still gripping her shoulders. She swiped her sleeve under her nose and sniffed hard before she gave a swift shake of her head.

“God, I’m _jealous_ ok? Ever since you’ve been doing this stuff with everyone, it’s like, things are better, and I’m glad. I’m glad for Tim and Cass, and Damian and even Dick. And it’s so stupid - because I’m not your kid and I don’t- I don’t expect you to treat me like I am. I _don’t.”_

Bruce felt a twist in his chest at the way her voice cracked on the last word.

“It just sucks to see everyone have something I don’t, but it’s not your fault. And you’re being nice and I’m sorry I’m a jerk.” Her voice was sharply frustrated, something he’d heard from her before, when she struggled in training or even when she wasn’t doing well in one of her classes and she went to Tim for help despite hating it. It was a self directed anger, like she resented her own short comings. 

Bruce took a deep, painful breath. There was a small bench a little further down the hall they were standing in and he gently pushed her toward it. “Let’s sit down, for a minute.” 

Grudgingly at first, she gave in and shuffled to it, dragging her bag behind her. She took a seat, tucking her hands beneath her thighs and staring at her knees, swinging her feet back and forth under the bench like a little kid. He took the seat next to her, resting his hands on his knees. Sometimes it was terrifying, the kind of influence he had on these kid’s lives. 

“Stephanie,” he began, “I meant what I said. This wasn’t an afterthought, I’ve wanted to do something with you since you came to me about Cass. Beyond that, I wanted to include you because I wanted you to feel like part of this family. Whether I’m your father or not, that doesn’t change the fact that you are a part of this.”

He watched her swinging legs slow, toes dragging on the tile floors until they stopped. She looked over at him, eyes wary but hopeful. It reminded him of the day he brought her coffee between her classes to ask for the list. He thought about the distance between them, and the hurt he’d caused her and he swallowed against the weight of it all, unsure what he should do or say. He was afraid that it would be the wrong thing, it always felt like the wrong thing with Stephanie.

“Listen. I have...” He didn’t know what the right words were and they came out awkward as always, and stumbling. Stephanie just stared at him with that same conflicted expression, no hint of impatience. “You have parents.” She blinked, an incredulous twist to her mouth as Bruce barreled on, no stopping now. “You have parents, and I...never wanted to-” 

She looked away, expression smoothing out to something neutral and closed off. Bruce was completely screwing this up.

“I wouldn’t presume to act like your father because you already have one,” he rushed out, desperate not to be misunderstood. “He never treated you well.” He watched her closely, saw her eyes dart to the side, toward him, but she didn’t turn her head. 

Bruce took a deep breath and spoke on the exhale, “I assumed, perhaps wrongly, that after Arthur, and after...what happened between us...that you wouldn’t trust or appreciate any actions on my part that could be construed as... _parenting._ But trust me when I say this Stephanie, _it is not easy.”_

She did turn to him then, a sharp line between her brows and made a choked off noise somewhere between a scoff and a _huh?_

“You know what I’m like Stephanie.” He looked at her for a long time and she stared right back at him.

“Ok, yeah, but I have no idea where you’re going with this.” 

Bruce let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his mouth and shifting sideways on the bench to better face her. “The hours you keep, the load you’ve taken on with college and helping your mother, along with our lifestyle, training with Cass and Barbara.” He took a chance on his next statement, unsure how she would take it.

“I have actively had to resist checking your grades more than once.” 

Stephanie snorted, a startled, amused sort of noise and Bruce felt that little bit bolstered to continue.

“I know that...I have handled things poorly. Plenty of times. With you and with everyone else. I’ve kept my distance, because it seemed as though you preferred it that way. But if you want me to take a more active role in your life...I would be happy to. You’re a good kid Stephanie.”

She held no expression for a long moment and Bruce ran over his words in his head, worried, for a split second, that she would resent being called a kid. 

And then abruptly - her eyes filled with tears and she sucked in a deep breath, dismay flashing over her face before she turned away and wiped at her eyes, cursing under her breath. Bruce stared at the back of her head, alarmed once again.

“I’m sorry-” he started, feeling something like panic, “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Hesitantly, he put a hand on her shoulder, waiting to be scolded again but unsure what else to do. 

Instead, she turned back to him and pressed her forehead to the side of his arm. She sniffled and asked, in a very small voice, “did you mean that?” 

Bruce stilled, a soft ache in his chest. He wasn’t sure which part she was referring to but it didn’t matter. He moved his hand from where it splayed flat against her shoulder blades to wrap his arm fully around her and squeezed gently. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to the crown of her head in a brief kiss.

“Yes, of course I did.” He felt her nod, very lightly, against his bicep and then she sat back and he loosened his hold. Her hair was slightly snarled in the front and she pushed it back with a deep breath.

“Ok.” she nodded again and swiped at her eyes, looking at the wall across from them. “Ok yeah.” 

Bruce watched her for a while, feeling oddly like he’d been punched in the stomach. He’d never quite expected things to go like this. But there was so much relief there, suddenly flooding through his system. It was like he could inexplicably breathe a little deeper. Stephanie sat forward on the bench, straightening her clothes and composing herself.

“If the price makes you uncomfortable...” he offered slowly. “We can go back and get the jewelry from the clothing store-” Stephanie snorted.

“Hell no, you offered a diamond bracelet, and I am getting a diamond bracelet. Just so long as you know if I ever need the money I will happily pawn it.” She sniffed and stood.

Bruce held off on saying anything about that, though internally he was already planning a trust of some sort...something to take care of her student loans at the very least. He supposed he would have to talk to her about that...before doing it.

Dr. Xie would expect him to, at least. At the moment though, Bruce was just pleased she was accepting the gift for what it was, and that things felt more...settled between them.

“Also, just as long as you know that what I said before still stands. If anyone with a nose for this stuff gets evidence of this purchase, I guarantee you the next gossip rag you’re in is going to brand me the latest mystery woman.”

Bruce made a face. “You’re a teenager.”

She looked at him with raised eyebrows, picking her shopping bag up off the floor. “I’m over eighteen.”

“That is...no.” Bruce didn’t want to think about it, he wasn’t going to. They began to walk back toward the jewelry store, exiting the hallway into the brightly lit main thoroughfare.

“Grosser things have happened.” 

“I don’t think they have.”

Stephanie laughed, light hearted and full as she looked at herself in the window of a store and attempted to fix her hair. She gave up after a moment and walked the next twenty feet to the jewelry store in large strides and threw open the door.

“We’re back,” she stated, as Bruce slipped in behind her. The old man looked startled but gave a hesitant smile, looking between the two of them quickly.

“We’d like to see the bracelet again, please,” Bruce said. Stephanie sniffed and glanced around.

“Do you have any tissues? I’m a recovering mess.” 

Bruce coughed, barely covering a laugh and shook his head as the man nodded. He set the bracelet on the counter and went to the back to retrieve the requested item. 

They picked out a matching set of earrings but passed on a necklace.

“Ok, if we’re doing this all out, there is a pair of heels I have wanted for like a year and they would look amazing with this dress.” 

She didn’t pause before leading him to the shoe section of Nordstrom, zeroing in like she was following a homing beacon. They were a very simple, nude, suede pump and Bruce agreed to them without a second thought.

Stephanie brightened as they waited at the counter for an employee to bring them out from the back, and looked, for all the world in Bruce’s opinion, like a dog with its ears perked, happily waiting for a treat.

Bruce paid for the shoes and didn’t miss the surprised glance the checker gave the two of them when he seemed to realize who he was. Bruce prayed Stephanie was wrong about the gossip rags but it was too late to do anything about it now. 

He carried the garment bag with the dress and Stephanie carried the bag with the shoes and tucked the little bag from the jewelry store inside it as they walked back through the mall toward the car.

“What do you say to an ice cream cone, before we scram out of here?” Stephanie asked, swinging her bag back and forth. Bruce glanced at her, knowing for a fact that Alfred was planning a dinner that night where he expected at least a majority of the kids to attend, including Stephanie. It would be a late meal, as was usual with all of their busy lives.

“Sure,” Bruce said, feeling disinclined to worry about much in that moment, and willing to indulge a sweet tooth.

They stopped at a little gourmet ice cream shop that sat between a restaurant and one of the large anchor stores and took a table toward the back. Stephanie had gotten some sort of abomination with a million toppings while Bruce enjoyed a scoop of vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce and peanuts.

“So this was one of my more interesting days,” Stephanie said around a mouth full of ice cream and gummy bears. 

“Oh?”

“M, I should start a blog. Or two.” She held up her spoon, pointing it at the ceiling and lowered her voice. “I could have one for _both_ identities. I’m an incredibly interesting person, I bet I could make money off of it.”

“Is that so?”

She leaned back in her chair, taking another spoonful of ice cream from her wafflecone. “Yeah, only thing is I’d have to have Tim or Babs set the whole thing up with crazy proxies and crap and I don’t think I wanna owe them the favor. Or get the eye rolley response from either of them.” She rolled her own eyes for emphasis and then sat quietly for a moment, tapping her spoon to her mouth. Bruce took a bite of his own ice cream and waited, sure she had much more to say on the subject.

“I think things could work, with Jason,” She said, out of the blue. Bruce blinked at her, taken entirely off guard. She flushed a little and looked at her ice cream. “I mean, not that it’s just you. He has to...want to fix things too, but...I think you can do it...if you keep...moving in the right direction.” Her voice was quieter than usual, but her tone was still bright, hopeful. Something Stephanie always seemed to be. Bruce suddenly found it difficult to swallow and cleared his throat.

“Thank you,” he offered back, quietly, unable to express or even completely comprehend how much the comment meant from her of everyone. From the girl who’d told him, no holds barred, that he was a disaster who needed therapy so he could stop hurting the people around him.

It had only been a short while. Just a few months. He never would have thought it would be possible, these small things, building into the picture that was coming together, slowly but surely. He found there was a tension in him that had loosened.

Something that was always pulled taut, going slack, giving him room to breathe.

He had no doubts there would still be fights and misunderstandings. Possibly even more than there had been for a while with Stephanie. But the sense of doom that seemed to hang over him when he used to think about fighting with any of the kids, that fear that he was inches away from losing them every time. It wasn’t there anymore.

Just a solid determination that they would work it out.

It didn’t feel so impossible anymore either, the idea of talking to Jason. That maybe, one day, they could have a real relationship again.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but-

Bruce jerked his head back, an ice cream cone, complete with gummy worms of all things, shoved in his face. It grazed the tip of his nose before he could quite get out of the way and he heaved a heavy sigh, reaching a hand up to gently push Stephanie’s arm to the side.

She blinked innocently at him before drawing her ice cream back. “You were looking a little too serious there B. I had to do something.” She tugged a napkin out of the holder on the table and couldn’t seem to hold back her grin as she dropped it in front of him. “You’ve got a little-” She indicated towards her nose with her empty hand, a laugh in her voice.

He picked it up, wiped the ice cream off his face and gave her a flat look.

“I’m going to remember this.”

The laugh he received in answer was loud, and a little obnoxious, but it was good to hear. It was very good to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed and sorry for the wait!!!
> 
> Honestly the only reason Bruce can’t adopt Stephanie, in my opinion, is that her and Tim were once an item and that makes it weird. But he can _act_ like her dad all he wants. I was really going for a ‘long suffering dad takes daughter dress shopping’ vibe here. Hope i succeeded. 
> 
> This is the dress I was picturing that Stephanie ended up buying, but in a light purple. —-> https://www.bhldn.com/products/lena-dress-navy?color=Bordeaux&via=Z2lkOi8vdXJibi9Xb3JrYXJlYTo6Q2F0YWxvZzo6Q2F0ZWdvcnkvQzlCRDc3ODg
> 
> Just a short epilogue now to transition into the next installment and we’re done!


	7. Let the Poison Bleed Out of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce contemplates his relationship with Jason, and plans for the future.
> 
> The next fic in the series IS being posted, and you can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21845302/chapters/52134031
> 
> I’ve temporarily removed it from the series because I’ve been told it would probably gain more readership but I will add it back in after it’s completed 😊

Bruce thought about what Stephanie had said for the rest of the week. Her words had a way of sticking with him, playing on repeat in the back of his mind. 

It was possible to talk to Jason. Bruce knew that of course. They worked together on cases occasionally, collaborated when it was mutually beneficial. Jason came to the cave every now and then for supplies or after an injury. It wasn’t like they weren’t on speaking terms. 

But that was in costume. 

Bruce of all people knew that his roles as Batman and as Bruce Wayne were very different. He had a relationship with Jason as Batman, but he wanted one as Bruce. 

He had talked about him sparingly to his therapist, but had so far preferred to focus on the things that seemed more manageable when all of it still felt out of his reach. But things were going well. He was doing better with Damian, and Tim, Dick, even Cassandra and now Stephanie. He had made progress with all of them. So what of his second son? 

Dr Xie had asked him about Jason before, but had so far allowed him to steer the conversation in other directions, just like when she asked about Damian’s death. But it was time, to make a step forward again. The conversation would be painful and difficult, if he was going to tell her everything. But in this, of all things, he needed help. 

He needed her to see the truth of what Jason thought of him and the things Bruce had done and regretted so she could give him an honest answer, some kind of game plan. Where could he start? How could he approach... _this._

There were so many things between them. For a while they had seemed better, something like an even scale that they could both work from. There was so much blame to spread around and they had finally decided to set those things aside and try to move past them. 

And then Damian had been killed and Bruce had...Bruce had spiraled just like he had after Jason had died and then he’d...he’d done something he wasn’t sure he could be forgiven for. 

Something he wasn’t sure he could forgive himself for.

  
  


*

The day of his appointment with Dr Xie was just as difficult as he had imagined it would be.

He sat at the end of his session with a rock in his stomach and thought he must be bleeding from somewhere. 

“Bruce,” she said quietly, “I’m glad we could talk about this. First, before anything else, I want to say that this isn’t impossible.” She sat forward in her seat, hands folded over her notebook, pen forgotten on her desk. 

“It’s true that Jason must want this too, but I think, from what you’ve told me, he does. He wants it, but he’s upset, and that can take a lot of time and a lot of conversations to move on from.”

Bruce took a deep breath. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” he admitted after a moment. “He avoids me, when we aren’t in costume, sometimes even when we are.” 

Dr. Xie nodded, her face soft in sympathy. “It will take time, and effort. I think the first step, is to just reach out. Open a channel so you can talk.”

“I...don’t know how.” Bruce confessed, the rock in his stomach sinking a little further.

“And that is what I’m here for. We can figure this out.” She looked at him for a moment, scanning his face with a mild look of concern before she took a breath and leaned back. 

“It’s just small things, continually. Just reaching out, as Bruce, and not stopping.

“You don’t need to force the big conversations right away, it will likely feel like too much to him too. So you start with the little things that don't seem like they matter, but you talk. Let Jason set the pace. 

“If he wants or needs to talk about the big things, then you let him, and you talk about them. We can plan for if that happens. Whatever you do, you don’t avoid these conversations.

But if he goes along with the small talk, then let him. Work your way to the larger issues, try to establish a foundation before you build the roof so to speak. The biggest thing, is be consistent. Don’t stop trying. Show that you are available, that you want to talk, that you want him around even if he bites and snaps and makes it difficult.”

“Alright,” Bruce said, swallowing against the pressure of it all. “I can do that.” 

She smiled. “Yes, you can. So let’s talk about a first step. What’s one thing you could reach out about? Some reason you could call?”

“I...I don’t know.” Bruce was blank for anything that would be significant enough to warrant a phone call. 

“I think I remember you mentioning a trip that’s coming up? You’re going to miss your appointment because you’ll be in London?” 

“Yes.”

“Maybe you could ask him if he wants a souvenir? Something small.” She gave a shrug and Bruce thought about it. 

For any of his other kids it would be a good idea, but for Jason it seemed too far outside of what they had. He thought of his son and pictured how he would react to the question and all he could come up with was suspicion. Perhaps if he worded it right...or maybe, maybe if there was more of a reason.

“I think...I think there might be something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep we made it to the end!! Amazing that a fic I decided to write more on a whim than anything else ended up being over 60k words lmao. 
> 
> Basically I’m all about the idea that both Bruce and Jason have hurt each other and made mistakes but that it’s Bruces job as the father to reach out and try to fix it. Plus just...Ethiopia?!? I can get past about all of the other stuff but that last one...nope. Jason showed up to help with getting Damian back and then we just leave it at that??? I don’t think so. 
> 
> I’m excited to continue posting _Clearly Calm and Keeping Terrorized_ , I really wanted to finish this out before going on with it. If you haven’t read it yet please check it out! It’s a direct continuation of this fic, told from Jason’s perspective. Though I started writing and posting it before this one lol. I have a disorganized brain. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!!!
> 
> Again you can find the next fic in series here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21845302/chapters/52134031


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